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ii 


C  H  ET 


99 


By  KATHERINE  M.  YATES 


"  CHET."    With  six  illustrations,     izmo,  doth, 
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A.  C.  McCLURG  &  CO.,  Publishers 


"Along  came  Bess,  clinging  to  the  rail,  her  cheeks 
red  and  the  wind  whipping  her  hair" 


"CHET" 


BY 

KATHERINE  M.  YATES 

Author  of  "On  the  Way  There,"  "At  the  Door," 
"Cheery  ^nd  the  Chum,"  etc. 


ILLUSTRATED  BY  H.  S.  DE  LAY 


THIRD  EDITION 


0,^^ 


CHICAGO 

A.  C.  McCLURG  &  CO. 

1912 


Copyright 
A.  C.  McCLURG  &  CO. 

igog 

Published  September  4, 1909 
Third  Edition,  February  24,  1912 

Entered  at  Stationers'  Hall,  London,  England 
AU  Rights  Reserved 


R.  R.  DONNELLEY  &  SONS  COMPANY 
CHICAGO 


PREFACE 

/^NCE  upon  a  time  —  I  begin  it  thus,  because 
it  is  such  a  very  old  story  —  a  person  stood 
before  the  painting  of  a  sunset.  Presently  he 
turned  to  the  artist.  "I  never  saw  such  colors 
as  those  in  a  sunset,"  he  said. 

And  the  artist  looked  at  him  and  smiled :  — 
"But,  my  friend,"  he  said,  "don't  you  wish  that 
you  could  ?" 

And  so,  should  any  of  my  readers  feel  tempted 

to   say:  —  "I   know  no   children   like  these,"    I 

would  reply  to  them :  —  "  But  don't  you  wish  that 

you  did?" 

K.  M.  Y. 
Chicago,  June  j,  igog. 


OH! 


33924 


c^ 


:^ 


CONTENTS 


Chapter  Page 

I.  That  Other  Girl          .....  i 

II.  Bess  and  I  Do  Some  Entertaining        .         .  14 

III.  The  Picnic  at  Blennerhasset  Island    .         .  41 

IV.  Downs  and  Ups  .         .         .         .         •  T^ 
V.  Bess  Meets  a  Number  of  Things  ...  84 

VI.  Over  the  Water  with  Twinny              .         .  100 

VII.  Lake  Michigan  Entertains  ....  130 

VIII.  Bess  Goes  Street-Car  Riding       .         .         ,  145 

IX.  The  Rest  of  Bess's  Letter  ....  166 

X.  The  Other  Side  of  the  Counter  .         .         .181 

XI.  Uncle  Rob  Visits  My  Brown  Study      .         .  209 

XII.     1944  luKA  Avenue 233 

XIII.  The  Case  of  the  New  Type-writer      .         .  262 

XIV.  Bess  and  I  Go  Shopping        ....  296 
XV.  That  Other  Girl  Again       ....  319 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


Page 
"Along  came  Bess,  clinging  to  the  rail,  her  cheeks 

red  and  the  wind  whipping  her  hair"        .     Frontisfuce 

"'There's  a  girl  coming  here,'  I  said"  .         .         6 

"I  don't  see  why  you  should  n't  go  for  a  week 

or  so" 80 

"I  had  managed  to  sit  up  and  was  holding  my 

head  with  both  hands" 122 

"  I  want  some  Parker's  floor-polish  and  a  pint  —  "     206 

"She  only  stood  and  stared  for  a  moment"   .         .     33* 


'*  C  H  E  T  '* 

CHAPTER   I 

THAT    OTHER    GIRL 

"l_IOW  do  you  suppose  Chester  will  take  to 
having  a  girl  living  in  the  same  house  with 
him  all  the  time  ?" 

It  was  Dad's  voice.  I  sat  up  in  the  hammock 
and  wondered  if  there  was  anything  the  matter 
with  my  ears.  Why  on  earth  should  Dad  say  a 
thing  like  that  ? 

The  hammock  was  on  the  veranda  just  outside 
of  the  dining-room  window,  and  I  'd  been  asleep 
in  it.  It  was  a  blazing  hot  day,  right  in  the  middle 
of  August,  and  I  had  gone  out  there  after  dinner 
to  make  up  my  mind'  what  I  would  do  that  after- 
noon. .  It 's  funny  how  quick  you  '11  go  to  sleep  on 
a  hot  day!  You  '11  be  sitting  and  swinging  your 
feet  and  kicking  your  heels  on  the  floor  to  see  how 
loud  you  can  make  the  hooks  and  staples  creak; 
and  then  you  '11  decide,  maybe,  to  go  and  fix  the 


C     ( 


C     H     E    T 


latch  on  the  back  gate;  and  you  give  a  good  hard 
kick  and  turn  over  and  stretch  out,  just  to  let  the 
old  cat  die,  —  and  the  hammock  goes  slower  and 
slower,  and  you  cover  your  eyes  to  shut  out  the 
bright  light,  —  and  then  the  next  thing  you  know, 
you  find  yourself  just  waking  up  and  feeling  all 
damp  and  sticky  around  your  collar,  and  your 
hair  plastered  all  over  your  forehead,  —  and  likely 
as  not  you  feel  cross. 

That  's  the  way  I  felt  when  I  waked  up  that 
day;  and  I  was  rubbing  my  face  and  trying  to 
start  the  hammock  by  wriggling,  when  I  heard 
Dad's  voice  come  through  the  dining-room  win- 
dow, — 

"How  do  you  suppose  Chester  will  take  to 
having  a  girl  living  in  the  same  house  with  him 
all  the  time  ?" 

He  had  been  taking  a  snooze  on  the  wicker 
couch  just  inside  the  window,  before  going  back 
to  the  store;  and  he  and  Mother  must  have  been 
talking  for  some  time;  but  the  first  I  heard  was 
when  my  name  came  through  the  window. 

Mother  did  n't  say  anything  for  a  minute,  and 
everything  was  quiet,  and  I  began  to  think  that 
perhaps  I  had  only  had  the  nightmare;    but  by 


'  *    C     H     E     T    '  '  3 

and  by  she  spoke,  sort  of  slow  and  determined. 
"Well,  Frederick,  I  don't  know,"  she  said;  "and 
I  can't  help  whether  he  likes  it  or  not.  That 
child's  mother  was  my  very  best  friend,  and  her 
daughter  is  n't  going  to  be  sent  to  any  boarding- 
school  as  long  as  I  have  a  home.  That  is,  unless 
you  put  your  foot  down  against  it." 

"Oh,  I  have  n't  anything  against  it,"  said  Dad. 
"Do  as  you  choose,  I  don't  care;  she  won't  bother 
me;  and  if  Chester  does  n't  treat  her  right,  just 
let  me  know  and  I  '11  settle  with  him." 

Mother  sort  of  sighed,  and  I  heard  Dad  stamp- 
ing on  his  shoes.  Then  Mother  spoke  again. 
"You  understand,  don't  you,  Frederick,  that  she 
is  to  stay  permanently  ?  She  is  n't  to  come  here 
until  April;  but  after  that,  she  is  to  remain  until 
she  is  grown  up;  and  she's  only  thirteen  now, 
just  Chester's  age." 

"Yes,  I  understand,"  said  Dad.  "Fix  it  any 
way  you  choose  only  you  '11  have  to  manage  her;  — 
I  've  got  my  hands  full  with  Chester.  And,  by 
the  way,  when  you  get  ready  to  tell  him,  you  would 
better  chloroform  him  and  tie  him  up,  before  you 
break  the  news,"  and  I  heard  Dad  laugh  and 
start  for  the    door. 


4  "    C     H     E     T   " 

"  Oh,  I  'm  not  going  to  tell  him  for  a  while," 
said  Mother,  anxiously.  "  I  'm  going  to  wait.  He 
may  not  like  the  idea,  just  at  first;  but  I  'm  sure 
her  influence  will  be  good  and  —  " 

Gee!  That  was  enough!  I  didn't  care  how 
much  Dad  "settled"  with  me;  but  when  it  came 
to  the  girl  and  her  "influence"  —  I  lit  out  over 
the  veranda  rail. 

It 's  queer  how  hard  it  is  to  think  when  any- 
thing big  and  horrid  walks  up  to  you.  All  you 
seem  to  be  able  to  do  is  to  sit  and  stare,  with  your 
mind,  at  the  thing,  and  watch  it  make  faces  at 
you.  I  could  n't  think  at  all  that  afternoon,  for 
more  than  half  an  hour;  and  then  the  first  thing 
that  really  came  to  me  was  what  a  fool  I  had  been 
to  come  out  to  the  sweet-apple  tree  when  I  was 
feeling  that  way.  Up  to  then  the  sweet-apple  tree 
had  always  meant  fun;  and  when  at  last  I  rolled 
over  in  the  long  grass  and  wiped  the  perspiration 
off  of  my  cheeks  with  my  sleeve,  and  looked  up 
in  the  branches  and  noticed  that  one  of  the  cleats 
leading  to  the  crow's-nest  was  loose;  just  then  it 
came  to  me  that  I  had  been  and  spoiled  the  tree 
by  coming  there  with  something  that  hurt;  —  and 
Bess  was  coming  home  that  night,  too.     I  rolled 


'  *    C     H     E     T   '  '  5 

over  onto  my  sleeves  again.  The  tree  was  Bess's 
and  mine,  and  here  that  other  girl  had  gone  and 
spoiled  it  already.  Bess  lived  next  door,  and  we 
had  been  chums  for  five  years,  ever  since  her  folks 
moved  there;  and  now  to  have  some  other  blamed 
girl  hanging  around  all  the  time  and  having  to  go 
everywhere,  and  do  everything  that  we  did, 
whether  we  wanted  her  to  or  not  —  you  see,  that 
was  why  I  cared  most.  You  can  stand  just  about 
anything  when  you  're  in  the  house;  but  to  have 
any  one  tagging  everywhere  you  go  —  it  made  me 
so  mad  that  I  sat  up  all  of  a  sudden  and  doubled 
up  my  fists  and  opened  my  eyes,  —  and  there, 
square  in  front  of  me,  stood  Bess. 

My  mouth  just  simply  dropped  open. 

Bess  burst  out  laughing.  "Well,  for  goodness* 
sake,  Chet!"  she  exclaimed,  pretending  to  dodge, 
"what  are  you  coming  at  me  that  way  for .?     You 

look  awfully  pleased  that  I  came  home.     I  'm  glad 

Iff 
came. 

" '  T  was  n't  much  use,"  said  I,  slamming  a 
dried-up  apple  at  a  tree. 

Bess  looked  at  me  with  her  head  on  one  side. 
"Trying  to  be  ugly  .?"   she  asked. 

"Oh,  not  at  you,  of  course.     I  just  meant  that 


6  *  '    C     H     E     T   " 

our  good  times  are  all  spoiled.  We  can't  have 
any  more  fun." 

Bess  sat  down  on  the  grass.  "What  you  been 
doing  V  she  asked.  "  Did  you  have  to  go  without 
your  dinner .'"' 

I  gritted  my  teeth.  A  girl  always  thinks  you  're 
hungry  if  you  don't  grin. 

"No,  I  did  n't,"  I  said.  "I  'm  not  just  blue. 
It 's  real  trouble, —  trouble  for  both  of  us." 

Bess  shook  her  head  soberly  and  did  n't  say 
anything  for  a  while. 

"Want  to  tell  me  about  it,  Chet  .f"'  she  asked, 
by  and  by. 

I  was  gnawing  the  bark  off  of  a  little  twig  of 
apple-tree.  It  sort  of  relieved  me  to  do  it. 
After  a  while  I  got  it  all  chewed  off.  The 
bark  was  kind  of  bitter,  and  it  was  hard  to  get 
my  mouth  fixed  so  I  was  sure  I  could  tell  Bess 
about  things. 

By  and  by  I  spoke,  real  steady.  "There  's  a 
girl  coming  here,"  I  said. 

"A  girl .?"  said  Bess.     "Coming  where  ?" 

"Here.     To  our  house." 

Bess  stared.     "  How  long  's  she  going  to  stay  ?'* 

"Forever." 


There's  a  girl  coming  here,'  I  said"     [Page  6] 


'  '    C     H     E     T   '  '  7 

"No,  but  really,  Chet?" 

"That's  it.  'Permanently' they  said.  Until 
she  's  grown  up." 

Bess  gasped.  "Who  is  she  .?  What 's  she  com- 
ing for  ?" 

"I  don't  know." 

Bess  sat  and  looked  at  me.  "Chet!"  she  said, 
almost  crossly.     "Tell  me  about  it." 

"That's  all  I  know,"  I  said. 

Bess  chewed  her  lower  lip.  "Who  told  you 
about  it  ?"   she  asked   at  last. 

"Nobody." 

"Oh,  Chet!"  sne  exclaimed,  suddenly,  out  of 
all  patience;  "why  don't  you  tell  me  what  you 
know  about  it,  instead  of  sitting  there  like  a  — 
like  a  —  "  she  stopped. 

"Why  don't  you  say  it .?"   said  I,  savagely. 

"  I  don't  want  to,"  said  Bess.  "  It  does  n't  do 
any  good  to  call  names;  —  but  I  think  you  might 
tell  me,  Chester,  after  saying  this  much." 

"Well,  I  '11  try  to,"  said  I.  You  see,  I  was  n't 
meaning  to  be  ugly  to  Bess;  but  sometimes  you 
are  afraid  to  go  into  particulars  about  things  that 
hurt,  because  you  don't  know  exactly  how  your 
voice  is  going  to  act.     I  tried  mine  once  or  twice. 


8  '  *    C     H     E     T   '  ' 

and  then  I  said :  "  Let 's  knock  down  some  apples 
first." 

Bess  said  "All  right,"  and  after  we  had  thrown 
a  lot  of  kindlings  into  the  tree,  I  felt  better,  and 
we  went  back  and  sat  down  and  I  told  Bess  all 
about  what  I  had  heard. 

She  looked  sober  enough  when  I  got  through. 
"  I  wonder  what  she  's  like,"  she  said,  jabbing  the 
sod  with  a  little  stick.  "Don't  you  know  a  thing 
about  her,  Chet .?" 

"Not  a  thing  more  than  I  've  told  you." 

I  could  see  that  Bess  had  one  of  her  "  moods " 
coming  on,  and  I  was  glad  of  it.  Bess's  moods 
are  just  as  ugly  as  mine,  and  it  was  a  sort  of  relief 
to  see  the  wrinkles  coming  between  her  eyes. 

"I  don't  see  the  sense  to  it,"  she  said  at  last, 
jabbing  the  stick  so  hard  that  it  broke.  "Why 
don't  they  let  her  go  to  boarding-school .?  If  she 
has  n't  got  any  home,  that 's  the  place  for  her, 
instead  of  coming  boring  other  people." 

"How'd  you  like  to  go  to  boarding-school.?" 
I  asked.  I  did  n't  want  the  girl  to  come;  but  I 
wanted  Bess  to  see  that  she  was  as  ugly  as  I  was. 

"  I  would  n't  go,"  said  Bess.  "  What 's  the  sense 
of  saying   anything   like     that,    anyway  ?      You 


'  '    C     H     E     T   '  '  9 

only  said  it  to  be  unkind.  I  'd  a  lot  rather  go  to 
boarding-school  than  to  go  poking  around 
where  I  was  n't  wanted;  I  can  tell  you  that." 

"She  can't  help  it,"  I  said. 

Bess  got  up  and  stood  in  front  of  me  stiffly. 
"Well,  all  right,  Chester  Williams,"  she  said;  "If 
you  want  her  to  come,  why,  have  her  come,  —  I 
don't  care.  I  probably  sha'n't  see  much  of  either 
of  you,  so  it  won't  bother  me  any,"  and  she  turned 
to  walk  off. 

Gee!  Here  I  had  been  just  about  holding  my 
breath  for  two  months,  waiting  for  Bess  to  get 
home,  and  now,  in  half  an  hour  we  were  squab- 
bling worse  than  we  ever  had  in  our  lives  before. 
It  made  me  mad. 

"Bess,"  I  said,  "what 's  the  use  of  your  being 
so  blamed  unpleasant  ?  You  know  I  don't  want 
her  to  come, —  I  've  told  you  so  enough  times, — 
so  there  is  n't  anything  for  us  to  quarrel  about;  — 
but  what  are  we  going  to  do  about  it  ?  That 's 
the  question.  Can't  we  boycott  her  ?  We  have  n't 
either  of  us  any  use  for  her;  do  you  suppose  we 
could  make  it  disagreeable  enough  so  she  would  n't 
want  to  stay  ?" 

Bess  sat  down  again  and  broke  off  some  long 


lo  '  *    C     H     E     T   '  ' 

stems  of  grass,  and  began  twisting  them  together 
in  her  fingers  and  thinking.  Bess  is  a  dandy  at 
planning  things,  and  I  began  to  have  hopes. 

"Maybe  we  could,"  she  said  at  last,  "if  we 
are  just  real  polite,  but  don't  pay  any  attention 
to  her, —  treat  her  as  if  she  did  n't  interest  us 
at  all." 

"Which  she  does  n't,"  I  put  in.  "That 's  the 
thing.  We  '11  just  say  'good-morning'  and  'good- 
night,' and  the  rest  of  the  time  we  simply  won't 
know  she  's  living.  Nobody  can  make  a  fuss  with 
us,  as  long  as  we  are  polite  to  her." 

"  Oi'^r-polite,"  said  Bess,  smoothing  out  the 
grass  stems  over  her  knee.  "  And  if  they  make  us 
take  her  with  us  anywhere,  we  '11  treat  her  like 
company  every  minute  of  the  time." 

"Good!"   said  I. 

Bess  sort  of  stared,  and  looked  at  me  suddenly, 
as  if  she  had  just  waked  up,  sort  of  opening  her 
eyes  wide,  and  blinking  them. 

"What 's  the  matter  now  .?"    I  asked. 

Bess  pressed  her  lips  together  and  turned  her 
face  away  and  stared  off  at  the  hills  far  over  on  the 
West  Virginia  side,  and  her  eyes  looked  as  if  she 
wanted  to  cry. 


'  *   C    H     E    T   "  II 

"What  's  the  matter?"  I  asked  again,  feeling 
cross.     Bess  never  cries. 

She  swallowed  hard.  "I  can't  do  it,  Chet," 
she  said. 

"Can't  do  what?" 

"Snub  her." 

"Well,  for  goodness*  sake,  Bess!"  I  said; 
"what  changed  you  so  quick  ?  Two  seconds  ago 
you  were  figuring  how  you  could  do  it,  and  now  — 
What  struck  you  ?" 

"You  said  'good,'"    said  Bess,  very  low. 

"Well,"  I  said,  "it  is  a  good  plan.  What's 
the  matter  with  it  ?" 

"  It  is  n't  good,"  said  Bess.  "  It 's  everything 
but  good.  It 's  selfish  and  mean  and  unkind, — 
and  we  have  n't  any  right  to  do  it." 

"Well,  she  has  n't  any  right  to  come  here." 

"She  can't  help  it." 

They  were  the  very  words  I  had  used  five  min- 
utes before;  but  it  was  different  when  she  said 
them,  and  my  temper  was  up  in  a  second. 

"All  right,"  I  said;  "take  her  part  if  you 
want  to,  —  I  don't  care, —  only  you  need  n't 
expect  me  to  be  traipsing  around  with  you  two 
all   the   time.     There  's    lots   of   boys    in    town. 


12  '  '    C    H     E    T   '  ' 

Bob  Stevens  and  I  can  always  have  plenty  of 
fun." 

"Oh,  Chet!"  Bess  thinks  Bob  Stevens  is 
about  the  worst  there  is,  and  so  does  Mother. 
I  don't  like  him  so  awfully  well,  myself,  he 's 
too  rowdy,  and  it 's  catching;  but  we  do  have 
fun,  such  as  it  is. 

"Well,"  I  said,  "what  else  is  there  for  me  to 
do  .''  If  you  're  going  to  make  a  chum  of  that  other 
girl,  I've  got  to  go  with  somebody,  have  n't  I  ^ 
I  'm  not  going  to  flock  by  myself,  and  I  'm  not  going 
to  play  gooseberry  all  the  time,  either.  I  know 
how  it  is  when  two  girls  get  together." 

Bess  sat  still,  nibbling  the  end  of  her  thumb,  a 
little  habit  she  has  when  she  's  thinking.  "  Chet," 
she  said  at  last;  "let 's  be  right  down  honest  and 
sensible.  You  know  I  don't  want  her  to  come  here 
any  more  than  you  do;  —  but  we  can't  help  her 
coming,  just  the  same.  Here  we  've  been  ugly  and 
quarrelling,  and  that  certainly  is  n't  the  other 
girl's  fault;  so  we  'd  better  look  at  ourselves  and 
find  out  what  there  is  in  us  that  makes  things 
seem  horrid." 

I  stared  at  Bess  hard.  She  was  always  a  great 
hand  to  think,  and  to  dig  out  reasons  and  causes; 


"   C    H     E    T   '  '  13 

and  I  always  liked  to  hear  her  talk  things  out  of 
a  tangle;  but  I  could  n't  see  how  we  were  the  least 
bit  to  blame  in  this  case,  not  the  least  bit.  Why, 
anybody  would  feel  the  way  we  did  about  it.  It 
was  perfectly  natural.  "What  do  you  mean," 
I  asked. 

"Well,"  said  Bess,  "when  there  is  inharmony, 
we  have  to  look  to  ourselves  for  the  reason." 

"'Inharmony'!  Gee,  where  'd  you  get  the  big 
word.?" 

Bess  flushed.  "I  can  use  it  if  I  want  to,  I 
guess,"  she  said,  putting  up  her  chin.  Then  she 
laughed.  "But  'harmony'  is  a  nicer  one,  isn't 
it  ?"   she  asked. 

"  Been  studying  the  dictionary  in  Boston  .?" 

"No,"  Bess  laughed  again,  "not  the  diction- 
ary. But  say,  Chet,  really,  you  can  see  that  this 
is  all  our  own  fault.  It 's  just  because  we  're 
selfish." 

I  got  up. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  .?"  asked  Bess. 

"Going  to  see  Bob  Stevens.  What  are  you 
going  to  do  ?" 

"Going  to  love  that  other  girl,"  said  Bess, 
sturdily;  and  we  walked  off^  in  opposite  directions. 


CHAPTER   II 

BESS  AND  I  DO  SOME   ENTERTAINING 

T  WENT  and  sat  in  the  hammock  again.  It 
seemed  a  week  since  I  had  stretched  out  there 
after  dinner;  and  here  it  was  only  four  o'clock, 
and  Bess  had  got  back,  and  she  and  I  had  squab- 
bled, and  that  other  girl  was  coming,  and  every- 
thing was  at  logger-heads,  —  whatever  they  are. 
I  swung,  and  kicked  the  railing,  and  yanked  the 
hammock,  and  jabbed  at  the  clematis  frame  with 
my  feet.  It 's  funny  how  you  feel  like  smashing 
something  when  things  go  wrong!  Of  course 
my  face  was  dirty  and  streaked  and  so  was  my 
blouse,  and  my  necktie  was  untied.  Bess  must 
have  thought  I  looked  nice!  I  kicked  the  railing 
harder  than  ever.  There  was  no  use  in  going 
over  to  Bob  Stevens'  that  late  in  the  afternoon;  — 
and  I  did  n't  want  to  see  him  anyway.  Just  to 
think  of  him,  made  me  feel  like  punching  him. 
Bess  had  no  right  to  say  I  was  selfish. 

Just  then  a  young  man  came  around  the  corner 
of  the  house.  He  was  about  twenty,  and  his  eyes 
were  nice.     "Hello,  Chet!"   he  said. 


'  *    C    H     E    T   '  '  15 

"Hello,"  I  said,  sort  of  weak;  for  I  'd  never 
set  eyes  on  him  before  in  my  life. 

He  laughed.  "Want  an  introduction,  do  you  .f"' 
he  said,  still  grinning.  "  I  did  n't  need  one  —  I 
knew  you  at  a  glance." 

I  tried  to  grin,  too.  He  sat  down  on  the  upper 
step  and  leaned  back  against  the  pillar. 

"Want  a  job  .?"   he  said. 

"Sure,"  said  I,  "if  it  is  n't  working." 

He  laughed  again.  "All  right,"  he  said; 
"There  's  no  work  within  ten  miles  of  it  —  but  it 
does  n't  begin  until  after  supper,  and  all  you  get 
out  of  it  is  this,"  and  he  tossed  me  a  little  package. 

It  was  a  hard,  flat  package,  wrapped  in  blue 
paper.  I  untied  the  string,  and  there  was  a  thin 
wooden  box.  I  knew  what  was  in  it,  right  at  a 
glance.  "Gee!"  I  said,  as  I  unhooked  the  fas- 
tenings and  saw  the  set  of  compasses  that  I  had 
been  simply  aching  to  have,  for  a  year.  There 
was  the  compass  with  two  sharp  points,  and  one 
of  the  points  could  be  taken  oflF  and  you  could  put 
in  another  section  that  had  a  sort  of  a  pen  on  the 
end  of  it,  or  one  that  had  a  place  for  a  pencil,  and 
there  was  an  extra  piece  to  put  in  to  make  one  arm 
longer  than  the  other;  —  and  there  was  a  little 


i6  '  '   C    H     E    T   " 

ruler  with  sixteenths  of  an  inch  marked  on  it; 
and  a  wooden  triangle;  and  a  brass  circle;  and 
a  china  cup  for  indelible  ink;  and  a  pen;  and  a 
brush;  and  even  a  little  key  to  be  used  in  putting 
on  and  taking  off  the  sections.  It  was  the  finest 
set  I  ever  saw,  and  I  just  sat  and  stared  at  it  and 
began  to  think  that  I  was  still  dreaming, —  had 
been  asleep  ever  since  dinner. 

"Like  it .?"   asked  the  young  man. 

"You  bet,"  said  I.  " Say,  whose  is  it  ?  What 'd 
you  bring  it  here  for  .?" 

The  young  man  fanned  himself  with  his  hat 
and  looked  at  me,  still  grinning.  "Well,  now, 
Chet,  I'll  tell  you  about  it,"  he  said.  "I  just 
arrived  this  afternoon  and  I  want  to  see  the  town. 
I  want  to  see  the  Ohio  River,  and  the  Muskin- 
gum, and  the  earth-works,  and  a  few  things  like 
that;  and  I  don't  want  the  bother  of  hunting 
them  up,  and  not  knowing  which  is  which.  So 
I  said  to  a  young  lady  I  know:  —  'Since  you 
have  to  stay  at  home  and  get  acquainted  with 
your  father  all  over  again,  do  you  suppose  that 
the  "Chet"  who  has  been  dinned  into  my  ears 
for  two  months  would  show  me  the  sights  of 
the  city?'" 


I 


"   C    H    E    T   "  17 

I  began  to  see  light. 

"'Well,'  said  she,  *Chet  can  do  it  if  anybody 
can;  only  he  '11  walk  your  legs  off.' 

"*I  '11  take  the  chances,*  said  I;  and  then  she 
brought  out  that  affair  and  asked  me  to  deliver 
it  for  her,  and  tell  you  that  it  is  for  the  civil  engi- 
neer that  you  are  going  to  be." 

That  was  just  like  Bess.  She  always  remem- 
bered what  I  really  wanted,  at  birthdays  and 
Christmas;  and  here  she  had  brought  me  this 
from  Boston,  and  she  had  sent  it  over,  just  the 
same,  after  I  had  been  so  ugly  to  her! 

The  young  man  was  looking  off,  over  the  town. 
The  part  where  we  live  is  up  on  a  hill, —  they  *ve 
called  it  the  "stockade,"  ever  since  Indian  times. 
He  pointed  to  the  bluffs  more  than  a  mile  away, 
across  the  Muskingum.  "  Is  that  West  Virginia  .f"' 
he  asked. 

"No,"  I  said.  "That's  Harmar  Hill.  Are 
you  Bess's  uncle  ?" 

"Yes.    Why  isn't  it  West  Virginia.?" 

"  Because  it  *s  Ohio.  That 's  West  Virginia 
over  there,  across  the  Ohio  River.  How  long 
you  going  to  stay  .'"' 

"Maybe  a  week,  —  maybe  all  winter.     There 


i8  *  *    C     H     E    T   " 

does  n't  seem  to  be  much  but  trees  in  this  town, — 
all  I  can  see  is  trees  and  church-steeples." 

"  It  does  look  like  woods,  from  here,  does  n't 
it?"  I  said.  "I  never  noticed  that  before. 
There  's  such  a  lot  of  hard  maples,  that  you  can't 
see  much  else." 

"That  isn't  a  hard  maple  in  front  of  your 
house." 

"No.     That  's  a  Tree  of  Heaven." 

"A  what?" 

"Tree  of  Heaven.     That 's  what  they  call  it." 

He  shook  his  head  and  looked  thoughtfully  at 
his  hands.  "I  broke  off  some  leaves  to  examine 
them,"  he  said. 

I  giggled. 

"  —  And  you  can  never  make  me  believe  there  *s 
any  tree  like  that  in  Heaven." 

"  Why  did  n't  you  smell  of  the  leaves  before  you 
broke  them  off?"   I  asked. 

"  Did  n't  know  it  was  the  proper  thing  to  do. 
I  '11  guarantee  that  no  one  ever  does  both.  Really, 
what  is  it?" 

"  Everybody  calls  it  *  Tree  of  Heaven';  but  I  've 
heard  some  one  say  its  other  name  is  '  lanthus'  — 
or  something  like  that." 


i  « 


C    H    E    T  "  19 


"  Oh,  that  *s  the  article,  is  it  ?  —  ailantus  — 
Tree  of  New  Haven !  '* 

"They  call  it  *  Tree  of  Heaven  '  here,"  I  insisted; 
"and  if  you  think  it  smells  bad  now,  you  ought 
to  be  here  when  it 's  in  blossom." 

"No,  thank  you,"  said  he.  "I  should  n't  care 
for  anything  stronger."  He  sniffed  at  his  hands 
and  put  them  behind  him  and  got  up.  "I  think 
I  '11  take  these  home  and  soak  them  until  supper- 
time,"  he  said;  "and  then,  after  supper,  we'll 
begin  our  exploring  expedition." 

"  All  right,"  said  I,  and  he  turned  to  go.  "  Say, " 
I  called  after  him;  "tell  Bess  I've  got  this  and 
I  '11  —  I  '11  thank  her  when  I  see  her." 

"All  O.  K."  said  the  young  man,  and  walked 
off  around  the  house. 

I  kept  on  swinging  in  the  hammock.  I  'd  heard 
Bess  talk  about  Uncle  Rob,  ever  since  she  came 
here,  and  I  knew  she  had  been  visiting  his  folks 
in  Boston;  but  I  did  n't  know  he  was  coming  back 
with  her.  It  would  n't  have  hurt  her  to  have  told 
me, —  but  then,  of  course,  she  did  n't  have  much 
chance  to  while  we  were  under  the  sweet-apple 
tree;  things  were  moving  too  fast!  I  liked  him. 
He  didn't  seem  "grown-up"  at  all;  and  his  eyes 


20  '  *   C    H     E    T   " 

had  a  way  of  looking  as  if  he  liked  you,  and  was 
interested  in  what  you  said. 

I  was  just  finishing  supper  when  I  heard  Bess 
whistle  out  in  front  of  the  house.  I  was  awfully 
surprised,  for  always  before,  when  Bess  and  I  had 
had  a  tiff,  she  had  waited  for  me  to  come  three- 
thirds  of  the  way  towards  making  up,  no  matter 
who  was  in  the  wrong;  so  when  I  heard  her 
whistle,  I  hurried  out,  and  there  she  was  with 
her  uncle.  "Hello,  Chet!"  she  called;  "You 
don't  have  to  be  introduced  to  Uncle  Rob,  do 
you .?  He  said  he  was  talking  to  you  before 
supper.  Father  had  to  go  down  town  on  business, 
and  so  I  'm  going  walking  with  you  two,  if  you 
don't  mind." 

"We  sure  don't  mind,"  said  I.  "Where  shall 
we  go  first .?" 

"  Let 's  take  him  up  and  show  him  where  we 
go  to  school,"  said  Bess;  so  off  we  started,  up  the 
street. 

It  was  only  about  four  blocks,  and  when  we 
got  there,  we  pointed  out  the  building,  and  Uncle 
Rob  tried  to  look  interested,  and  Bess  and  I  did 
a  little  talking;  but,  someway,  everything  seemed 
awfully  flat.     I  did  n't  know  quite  what  was  the 


*  *    C    H     E    T  '  '  21 

matter;  but  Bess  did  in  a  minute,  and  she  began 
to  laugh.  "Now,"  she  said,  turning  to  Uncle 
Rob  and  folding  her  hands  primly,  "we  *ve  enter- 
tained ourselves  by  showing  you  what  interests 
us  most;  what  shall  we  do  to  entertain  you  ?" 

Is  n*t  it  odd  how  selfish  people  are,  without  even 
thinking  of  it  ? 

Uncle  Rob  laughed.  "Don't  let  me  interfere 
with  your  pleasure,"  he  said.  "If  you  want  to 
take  me  over  into  the  school-yard  and  show  me 
where  you  cut  your  names  on  the  fence,  and  where 
you  sharpen  your  pencils  on  the  stone-work,  and 
the  marks  outside  of  the  up-stairs  windows 
where  you  pound  the  black-board  erasers  to  get 
the  chalk  out,  why  come  along.  Maybe  we  can 
climb  up  and  look  in  the  windows  and  you  can 
show  me  just  where  you  sit,  and  tell  me  who  sits 
everywhere  else  in  the  room.  Come  on,"  and  he 
started  toward  the  building. 

And,  do  you  know,  those  were  just  about  the 
things  that  I  'd  been  thinking  that  I  wished  we 
could  do! 

"No,"  I  said,  "we'll  leave  that  for  the  next 
trip." 

"Not  much,"  said  Uncle  Rob.     "Never  leave 


22  *  '    C    H     E    T   '  ' 

for  the  future  a  woe  that  you  can  put  into  the  past 
real  quickly." 

I  thought  that  he  was  going  to  make  us  do  it 
in  spite  of  ourselves;  but  Bess  knew  that  he  was 
only  fooling,  and  so  she  grabbed  his  arm;  "Stop 
teasing,  Uncle  Rob,"  she  said,  "and  tell  us  what 
you  most  want  to  see." 

"Some  mound-builders'  works,"  said  Uncle 
Rob. 

"All  right,"  said  I.     " Look  at  'em." 

"Where.'*"  said  Uncle  Rob,  craning  his  neck 
and  looking  up  and  down  the  street  and  then  up 
into  the  tree-tops. 

"Right  beside  you,"  I  said. 

And  then  Uncle  Rob  drew  in  his  neck  and 
looked  at  the  corner  lot,  where  we  were  standing. 
"H'm!"  he  said.  "Isn't  that  just  the  way! 
When  we  're  looking  for  something  wonderful, 
we  always  stretch  our  necks  and  look  a  long  way 
off,  when,  if  we  'd  shorten  the  focus  of  our  eyes 
and  look  close  beside  us,  we'd  find  something 
wonderful  all  the  time." 

And  then  he  went  up  the  steep,  grassy  bank, 
from  the  sidewalk,  onto  the  raised  square  of  earth 
with  the  slanting  approaches  at  each  side,  and  then 


'  *    C     H     E     T   '  '  23 

across  the  flat  surface  of  it,  and  up  onto  the  second 
raised  square,  which  stood  on  top  of  the  first. 
And  then  he  paced  off^  the  sides  to  see  how  long 
they  were,  and  sighted  to  see  how  high,  and  had 
the  best  time  you  ever  saw,  without  saying  a  word 
or  asking  a  question. 

Bess  and  I  sat  down  on  the  grassy  bank  while 
he  was  looking  about,  and  I  thanked  her  for  the 
compasses,  and  we  talked  about  the  things  that 
had  happened  to  each  of  us  while  she  had  been 
away;  and  by  and  by  the  talk  drifted  around  to 
that  other  girl  again.  That  is,  I  brought  up  the 
subject.  Always  before,  when  we  had  had  tiffs 
and  had  got  'em  straightened  up,  Bess  had  to 
keep  Fletcherizing  on  them  for  a  long  time  after- 
ward, and  so  I  was  rather  surprised  that  she 
did  n't  start  in  right  off,  to  making  a  cud  of  the 
matter;  but  she  did  n't  say  a  word,  although  I 
gave  her  several  chances,  and  so  I  had  to;  —  and 
at  the  same  time  I  had  to  acknowledge  to  myself 
that  while  I  had  always  blamed  her  for  wanting 
to  talk  about  things  when  they  were  all  over 
and  settled,  the  fact  was  that  I  had  really  wanted 
to  talk  about  them  myself,  —  and  thought  I 
did  n't. 


24  *  '   C    H     E    T   '  ' 

"Well,"  I  said  at  last,  "what  have  you  decided 
about  that  other  girl  ?" 

Bess  tossed  a  little  handful  of  grass  into  the  air. 

"Going  to  love  her,"  she  said. 

"What  nonsense!"  I  exclaimed.  You  can't, 
just  because  you  say  you  're  going  to.  We  don't 
love  people  because  v^^e  want  to;  but  because  we 
can't  help  it.  It 's  because  they  are  nice,  that  we 
love  them." 

"Is  that  so!"   said  Bess. 

"Yes,  it  is,"  said  I,  beginning  to  feel  very  much 
like  a  philosopher,  and  swelling  up  some,  in  both 
feelings  and  words.  "  We  love  people  because  they 
possess  qualities  that  make  them  lovable;  and  we 
dislike  them  because  they  are  —  are  —  cranks." 

"H'm!"  said  Bess.  "What  is  a  'crank' ?  Be 
honest,  Chet." 

I  looked  at  the  word  with  my  mind,  —  and 
looked  — 

"  Be  honest,  Chet,"  said  Bess,  again. 

I  grinned.  "Bess,"  I  said,  "a  crank  is  some 
one  who  thinks  differently  from  what  I  do,  and 
does  n't  hesitate  to  say  so." 

Bess  laughed  and  clapped  her  hands  together. 
"Good,  Chet!    Good!     I  'm  proud  of  you.     Now 


*  '    C     H     E    T   '  '  25 

listen.  You  say  that  we  like  people  because  of 
their  good  qualities  ?" 

"Yep." 

"Well,  there's  Bob  Stevens;  —  Fred  Walker 
likes  him  awfully  well,  you  like  him  some,  and 
I  don't  like  him  at  all." 

"That's  so,"  I  said. 

"Well,  Fred  Walker  is  one  of  the  very  nicest 
boys  in  our  school,  is  n't  he  ?" 

"He  sure  is,"  I  said. 

"And  he  knows  Bob  better  than  either  of 
us  does."  ^ 

"He  ought  to;  he  's  lived  next  door  to  him  for 
two  years." 

"And  you  know  Bob  better  than  I  do." 

"Yep.     What  are  you  driving  at  ?" 

"Now  wait.  Here  are  three  of  us  looking  at 
the  same  fellow  in  three  different  ways.  Is  that 
because  of  Bob,  —  or  us  ?" 

I  had  to  stop  and  think  things  over.  "  It 's 
queer,  isn't  it?"  I  said.  "Why,  there  are  as 
many  different  opinions  of  him  as  there  are  pupils 
in  school,  —  and  some  of  the  teachers  have  liked 
him,  and  some  have  n't,  and  have  nagged  him 
dreadfully,  —  and  he  was  mean  to  those." 


26  "    C     H     E     T   '  ' 

"Well,  then  what  do  you  think  ?" 

I  was  still  puzzled.  "It  looks  as  if  it  were  the 
attitudes  of  people,"  I  said;  "but  still  there  are 
a  lot  of  unpleasant  things  about  Bob.  I  don't 
know  what  to  say." 

"Well,  I  've  been  thinking  it  over,  and  this  is  the 
way  that  I've  figured  it  out,"  said  Bess.  "  It 's 
something  as  if  we  held  up  a  pair  of  scales,  and 
weighed  a  person's  attributes,  without  knowing 
that  we  did  it.  A  pair  of  scales  with  two  scoops, 
you  know;  and  we  throw  into  one  or  the  other 
scoop,  our  impressions  of  him;  the  ideas  we  get 
from  what  we  see  him  do  and  hear  him  say,  the 
good  things  into  one  scoop  and  the  bad  things  into 
the  other.  And  then,  if  the  good  things  weigh 
heaviest,  we  like  him;  and  if  the  bad  things  make 
that  side  go  down,  —  we  don't." 

"Fine!"  I  said.  "That 's  exactly  the  way  it  is. 
Why,  I  've  held  up  a  scale  that  went  way,  way 
down  on  the  bad  side,  and  then  seen  the  fellow 
do  one  really  fine  thing,  and  down  would  go  the 
good  side,  and  I  'd  wonder  how  I  ever  could  have 
disliked  any  one  who  had  it  in  him  to  do  a  thing 
like  that."  And  then  I  remembered  how  it  was 
when  I  had  it  in  for  Bob  Stevens  about  a  ball  of 


'  *    C    H     E    T   '  '  27 

mine  that  he  lost.  Why,  I  used  to  find  something 
to  chuck  into  the  wrong  side  of  the  scales  every 
day,  until  it  weighed  so  much  that  I  did  n't  have 
any  use  for  him  at  all;  —  and  then,  one  day,  after 
more  than  six  months  of  that  sort  of  thing,  I  saw 
him  do  something  that  was  so  white,  that,  gee! 
there  was  n't  a  thing  in  the  bad  scoop  that  could 
weigh  a  featherweight  against  it,  —  it  just  simply 
went  up  in  the  air,  and  though  it 's  teetered  a  good 
deal  since,  it 's  never  dropped  below  the  other, 
not  a  hair's  breadth.  And  then  I  saw  that  Bess 
did  n't  like  him  because  she  did  n't  know  him  very 
well,  and  saw  only  his  rowdy  ways,  and  so  the 
bad  scoop  was  away  down  with  her;  and  Fred 
Walker  knew  him  better  than  either  of  us  — 

And  just  then  Bess  broke  in.  "Well.'"'  she 
said. 

"  I  was  just  trying  to  see  how  the  idea  worked 
out,"  I  said;   "and  it  looks  good  to  me." 

"Well,  now,"  said  Bess,  spreading  her  hands 
out  on  her  knees,  "here  's  what  I  'm  going  to  do 
about  that  other  girl:  —  I'm  going  to  keep  my 
eyes  open  from  the  very  start,  to  find  things  to 
throw  into  the  good  side  of  the  scale, —  I  'm  going 
to  put  in  every  little  wee  thing  that  will  help  to 


28  '  *    C     H     E     T   '  ' 

weigh  down  that  side,  —  and  I  am  going  to  try 
not  to  see  anything  at  all  to  put  into  the  other." 

"  But  there  will  be  things  to  go  into  the  other 
side,"  I  said.     "There  always  are." 

"Yes,"  said  Bess,  "but  I'm  not  going  to  see 
any  more  than  I  can  help;  and  when  I  do  see  one 
that  I  simply  can't  keep  out  of  the  wrong  side, 
I  'm  going  to  —  to  dissect  it;  —  because  if  I  don't, 
I  might  accidentally  throw  into  the  wrong  scoop 
something  that  belongs  in  the  right  one,  or  at  least 
a  part  of  it  might  belong  there,  and  I  'm  not  going 
to  take  any  chances.  And  then  —  and  then,  if 
it  just  has  to  go  in,  I  'm  going  to  make  it  weigh 
as  light  as  possible  and  —  and  —  " 

"Yes,"  I  said,  "and  I  suppose  you  '11  keep  slap- 
ping down  the  good  scoop  all  the  time,  to  make  it 
weigh  as  heavy  as  possible." 

"Sure,  I  will,"  laughed  Bess.  "Thank  you  for 
the  suggestion.  That  will  help  some.  I  believe 
I  'm  beginning  to  like  her  already."         ^ 

"I  'm  not,"  said  I;  for  just  then  I  got  a  picture 
of  those  two  girls  chumming  together  and  —  I 
did  n't  like  it;  and  I  did  n't  like  the  fact  that  I 
had  to  admit  to  myself  that  I  was  selfish,  either. 
I  commenced  punching  holes  in  the  sod  with  my 


'  '    C    H     E    T   '  '  29 

knife,  and  I  could  feel  my  lips  shutting  hard  on 
each  other. 

Bess  looked  at  me  steadily.  She  knew  my 
moods.  "Chet,"  she  said,  "you're  making  a 
mistake.  It  is  n't  as  if  it  were  something  we  could 
get  around  or  break  down, —  it 's  something  we  've 
got  to  face.  I  'm  going  to  face  it  with  a  smile. 
Are  you  going  to  face  it  with  your  lips  like  that  ?" 

"Yep,"  I  said,  jabbing  with  my  knife. 

"  All  right,"  said  Bess.  "  Let 's  talk  about  the 
weather  now.  Oh,  but  first,  have  you  said  any- 
thing to  your  folks  about  it  ?" 

"No,  and  I  'm  not  going  to.  If  the  subject  once 
gets  started  in  the  house,  it  '11  be  talked  all  the 
time,  and  I  can't  stand  for  it.  If  anybody  starts 
it  with  me,  I  '11  tell  'em  I  know,  and  ask  'em  to 
kindly  shut  up." 

Bess  nodded.  "  I  guess  that 's  the  best  way. 
I  don't  want  to  talk  about  it  with  others,  either. 
You  see,  Chet,"  she  added,"  I  don't  feel  quite  — 
quite  smooth  about  it  myself.  I  can  talk  to  you," 
Bess  laughed,  "because,  knowing  how  ugly  you 
feel,  I  have  what  Father  calls  a  'holier  than  thou 
sensation,*  and  that  is  quite  pleasant;  but  I  get 
a  wrathy  streak  sometimes  when  I  think  about  it, 


30  '  '    C     H     E     T   '  ' 

and  then  if  folks  should  begin  to  tell  me  what  I 
ought  to  do,  or  go  to  teasing  me  and  saying  that 
you  and  I  won't  be  chums  any  more  after  she 
comes,  and  things  like  that, —  well,  it  would  make 
it  harder,  and  I  've  got  work  enough  to  do  on  it 
as  it  is." 

I  looked  at  her.     "You  've  got  —  what  ?" 

Bess  blushed.  "Oh,  nothing,"  she  said,  "I 
just  —  Come,  we  were  going  to  talk  about  the 
weather." 

"  But  what  did  you  say  V   I  persisted. 

Bess  hesitated. 

"You  said  you  had  'work'  to  do  on  it." 

"  Well,  I  meant  —  I  meant  that  —  why,  if  I  've 
been  thinking  wrong  about  anything,  it  takes 
some  work  to  come  to  think  right,  doesn't  it?" 

"How?"   I  asked.     "What  sort  of  work  ?" 

"Well,  if  I  had  learned  the  wrong  way  to  do 
examples  in  multiplication,  learned  the  rule  wrong, 
you  know,  it  would  take  some  work  to  learn  to  do 
them  right,  would  n't  it  ?" 

"Yes." 

"  And  if  I  had  learned  addition  and  subtraction 
wrong,  it  would  make  it  harder  still,  would  n't 
it?" 


'  '    C    H     E    T   '  '  31 

"  You  'd  have  to  begin  away  back  and  learn  'em 
over. 

"  And  if  I  had  n't  even  learned  to  write  down 
figures  correctly?" 

"You'd  be  in  a  bad  way." 

"I  'd  have  work  to  do,  would  n't  I  ?" 

"It  would  look  so  to  me." 

"And  the  time  to  begin  it,  would  be  as  soon  as 
I  found  out  that  I  was  wrong .?" 

"Yep." 

"And  if  I  made  some  mistakes,  it  would  n't 
be  so  very  wonderful,  would  it,  Chet  V 

"Well,  I  should  say  not." 

"And  if  there  were  some  problems  that  I 
could  n't  seem  to  get  the  right  answer  to,  try  as 
hard  as  I  would  .?" 

"  It  would  be  a  wonder  if  you  got  any  of  them 
right,  just  at  first." 

"You  see,"  went  on  Bess,  "I  'd  have  not  only 
to  learn  the  right  way;  but  I  'd  have  to  unlearn  the 
wrong  way." 

"'Unlearn'  is  good,"  I  said. 

"Well,  you  know  what  I  mean,  Chet.  When 
I  would  try  to  do  a  thing,  the  wrong  way  to  do  it 
would  come  to  my  mind  before  the  right  way; 


32  *  '   C     H     E     T   '  ' 

and  sometimes  I  might  forget,  or  just  be  careless, 
and  do  it  wrong  without  thinking,  and  not  notice 
my  mistake,  or  know  what  was  the  matter  when 
the  example  would  n't  come  out  right.  You  see 
what  I  mean  by  'unlearning'  the  wrong  way, 
don 't  you  ?  I  don't  know  any  other  word  to 
use." 

"I  do,"  said  I. 

"What  is  it.?" 

"Forget  it." 

"  Wh-what  ?  Are  you  trying  to  be  funny, 
Chet  ?"   Bess's  voice  was  accusing. 

"No.  I  mean  what  I  said.  To  learn  a  thing 
is  to  understand  and  remember  it,  is  n't  it  ?" 

"Yes." 

"Then  to  'unlearn'  it,  is  to  forget  it,  is  n't  it  ?" 

"Oh,  oh!"  cried  Bess,  clapping  her  hands 
together,  in  her  soft  little  way.  "That  is  fine, 
Chet;  perfectly  fine!  To  unlearn  it  is  to  under- 
stand that  it  is  wrong,  and  forget  it.  Oh,  that 
helps  me  such  a  lot!" 

I  looked  at  Bess  and  shook  my  head.  I  could  n't, 
for  the  life  of  me,  make  out  what  she  was  driving 
at.  She  had  just  "supposed"  something  about 
learning  her  arithmetic  wrong;    and  we  had  fol- 


*  '    C     H     E     T    ''  33 

lowed  her  fancy  out,  as  we  always  did,  and  here 
she  was  looking  just  the  way  I  did  when  I  opened 
that  box  of  compasses.  f 

"  Bess,"  I  said,  "what 's  got  you  ?*'  .- 

Bess  hesitated,  and  then  seemed  suddenly  to 
make  up  her  mind,  and  lifting  up  her  head  and 
looking  me  squarely  in  the  face,  she  said,  — 
"Christian  Science." 

I  gasped  and  stared  at  her.  Bess  and  I  had 
talked  religion  together  a  great  deal,  and  we  had 
always  agreed  that,  to  be  honest  with  ourselves, 
we  had  to  have  something  we  could  understand, — 
something  we  could  study  out  and  figure  on,  like 
arithmetic,  instead  of  something  we  had  to  commit 
to  memory  and  believe  only  because  some  one 
said  that  it  was  so.  We  wanted  to  know  that  a 
thing  was  so  because  it  was  reasonable,  and  would 
prove,  and  not  just  because  some  one  else  believed 
it.  And  so  now,  for  her  to  sit  up  there  and  say 
that  Christian  Science  had  "got  her,"  it  was  no 
wonder  I  stared.  _  — 

"Well.?"  said  Bess,  as  she  always  did  when  it 
was  my  turn  to  talk,  and  I  did  n't. 

"  Nothing  to  say,"  I  said. 

"Well,"  said  Bess  again,  smoothing  down  her 


34  "    C     H     E     T   " 

dress  and  smiling  into  her  lap,  "you  might  do 
worse." 

"And  so,"  I  said  at  last,  "you  have  decided  to 
take  something  down  in  one  gulp,  like  an  oyster! 
I  did  n't  think  it  of  you,  Bess.  I  hope  it  won't 
give  you  indigestion." 

"It  won't,"  said  Bess.  "I  never  chewed  any- 
thing so  thoroughly  in  all  my  life.  That 's  why 
I  like  it.  You  don't  have  to  swallow  a  single 
chunk  that  chokes." 

I  shook  my  head.  "You're  mistaken,  Bess," 
I  said.  "Maybe  the  chunks  are  greased  and  go 
down  so  easy  that  you  don't  notice." 

Bess  laughed.      "Nope,"   she   said,  positively. 

"What  you  going  to  use  it  for.?  You  are  n't 
sick,  and  that 's  all  it 's  for." 

"No,  it  isn't,  Chet.  You  don't  know  anything 
about  it." 

"Yes,  I  do,"  I  said.  "The  principal  thing  is 
that  they  don't  take  medicine." 

Just  then  Uncle  Rob  came  along.  He  heard 
what  I  said,  and  sat  down  beside  us  on  the  bank. 
"What's  this  you  know  so  much  about,  Chet?" 
he  said. 

"Christian  Science.     I  know  all  about  it." 


'  '    C     H     E     T    '  '  35 

"You  're  lucky,"  said  Uncle  Rob. 

I  felt  my  face  flush.  "Well,"  I  said,  '*I  know 
that  the  principal  thing  is  that  they  don't  take 
medicine." 

"  H'm,  if  you  know  it  all  like  that,"  said  Uncle 
Rob,  "it's  —  it's  interesting.  I  don't  know  all 
about  Christian  Science;  but  I  know  a  little  about 
some  other  things,  in  just  the  same  way.  For 
instance,  on  these  great  steamships  which  go 
across  the  ocean,  it  is  the  uniforms  of  the  captain 
and  the  sailors,  that  take  care  of  the  boat.  Those 
blue  uniforms  understand  the  ship  from  stem  to 
stern,  they  watch  the  compass  and  the  charts, 
they  know  the  ocean  and  issue  the  orders  and  obey 
them,  and  carry  the  boat  safely  through  to  port. 
Those  uniforms  are  the  principal  part  of  the  boat 
and  the  trip  and  everything  pertaining  thereto. 
Curious,  is  n't  it .?" 

I  looked  at  him,  a  good  deal  puzzled. 

"It  does  n't  look  reasonable,  does  it  V  he  said. 

"  It  is  n't  true,"  I  blurted  out. 

"  But  I  know  it  in  just  the  same  way  that  you 
know  what  you  said." 

"  But  the  uniforms  don't  have  anything  to  do 
with  the  boat,  at  all." 


36  "    C     H     E     T   '  ' 

"No?"  asked  Uncle  Rob.  "Think  a  little. 
Why  does  the  captain  wear  his  ?" 

"So  that  people  can  find  him,"  I  said.  "When 
folks  see  that,  they  know  that  he  is  on  deck,  attend- 
ing to  business  and  that  the  boat  is  being  handled 
right.  It 's  a  sort  of  a  guaranty  that  things  are 
in  the  hands  of  some  one  who  knows  how." 

"And  the  sailors'  uniforms  f" 

"Same  thing.  They  show  where  the  sailors 
are  and  that  there  are  plenty  of  them,  and  what 
sort  of  looking  fellows  they  are,  and  that  they  are 
attending  to  their  duties.  The  uniforms  give 
confidence,  of  course." 

"And  is  that  all  they  are  good  for  ?" 

"Well,  all  except  to  keep  the  men  warm,  and 
protect  them." 

"Yes,"  said  Uncle  Rob,  "that  is  something, 
is  n't  it  ?  To  keep  the  men  in  them  comfortable 
no  matter  what  the  weather;  —  so  that  they  can 
go  about  their  duties  and  not  be  thinking  to 
whether  they  are  going  to  be  warm  or  cold  when 
the  next  breeze  blows.  Still,  you  think  that  the 
uniforms  are  not  the  principal  thing  about  the 
boat  and  voyage  ?" 


*  *   C     H     E     T   "  37 

"No,"  I  said.  "Was  what  I  said  as  far  off 
the  track  as  that  ?" 

"Farther.  Your  remark  would  be  something 
like  this:  —  'The  principal  thing  about  a  big 
steamship  and  its  trip  is  that  the  officers  and  sail- 
ors do  not  wear  frock  coats.'  " 

I  know  I  looked  foolish. 

"Now  listen  just  a  minute,  Chet,"  he  went  on, 
"I  want  to  correct  this  idea  of  yours.  The  simile 
is  not  nearly  perfect;  but  it  will  serve.  In  the 
first  place,  the  principal  thing  about  Christian 
Science  is  not  negative,  as  you  put  it,  something 
that  they  dont  do.  Nothing  could  stand  upon  a 
negative  principle.  In  the  second  place,  neither 
is  the  principal  thing  the  fact  that  they  heal  with- 
out medicine,  as  you  probably  intended  to  imply. 
There  is  something  as  much  greater  back  of  the 
physical  healing,  as  the  intelligence  which  handles 
the  great  ship  is  greater  than  that  which  shows 
where  to  find  it." 

I  pondered  for  a  few  minutes.  "That  sounds 
interesting,"  I  said. 

"It  is,"  said  Uncle  Rob.  "It  is  the  most  inter- 
esting and   fascinating  study  in  the  world,  and 


sB  '  '   C     H     E     T   '  ' 

gathers  interest  as  you  proceed.  And,  Chet,  do 
you  realize  how  much  value  that  point  has  ? 
Interest  makes  us  lose  sight  of  difficulties,  as  such, 
in  the  fascination  of  studying  the  methods  of 
overcoming  them.*' 

"I  want  to  know  more  about  it,"  I  said.  "It 
sounds  'different,*  someway.  But  what  makes 
so  many  people  think  that  the  healing  is  the  main 
thing.?" 

"Don't  you  suppose  that  there  were  many  who, 
in  Jesus'  time,  told  of  him  only  with  reference  to 
the  healing  and  the  loaves  and  fishes,  even  after 
hearing  his  wonderful  sermons .?  It  is  because 
people  don*t  think  and  investigate  for  themselves. 
They  take  the  statement  of  some  one  who  is  not 
able  to  grasp  anything  higher  than  mere  physical 
manifestation,  and  accept  it  without  question,  and 
pass  it  on." 

"  But  that  is  n't  fair,"  I  said. 

Uncle  Rob  smiled  good-naturedly.  "  Chet," 
he  said,  "had  I  known  nothing  about  Christian 
Science  a  few  moments  ago  when  you  yourself 
made  that  very  statement,  you  would  have  said 
what  you  did  just  the  same,  and  I  might  have 
been  misled." 


'  '    C     H     E     T   '  '  39 

I  felt  my  face  burn.  "  But  I  did  n't  know 
anything  about  it/'  I  said. 

**No,  but  you  said  that  you  knew  all  about 
it, —  and  then  made  the  statement." 

"I  wasn't  fair,"  I  admitted.  "I  hadn't  any 
right  to  say  it;   for  I  did  n't  know." 

"Neither  does  any  one  else  who  makes  the  same 
statement,"  said  Uncle  Rob.  "Now  I  want  to 
ask  you  some  questions  about  these  earth-works." 

"  Don't  know  any  more  about  those  than  I  did 
about  Christian  Science." 

Uncle  Rob  laughed.  "  Have  n't  you  ever  paced 
these  squares  off  and  studied  the  proportions  of 
them  and  wondered  what  sort  of  instruments  were 
used  r' 

"No,"  I  said,  "I  haven't." 

"And  you  are  planning  to  be  a  civil  engineer, 
and  have  taken  no  concern  in  this  work,  done  with 
such  accuracy,  hundreds  and  hundreds  of  years 
ago? 

I  looked  around  at  the  upper  square,  with  a  new 
interest.  "Well,"  I  said,  "I  'm  so  used  to  seeing 
them,  you  know,  that  I  've  never  thought  much 
about  them,  —  never  thought  of  them  in  that  way, 
at  all." 


40  '  *    C     H     E     T   '  ' 

Uncle  Rob  shook  his  head  slowly.  "  Chester, 
Chester!  And  people  coming  here  all  the  time, 
from  all  over  the  country,  just  to  see  them!  I 
think  you  'd  better  short-focus  your  own  eyes  a 
little." 


CHAPTER   III 

THE  PICNIC  AT  BLENNERHASSET  ISLAND 

/^N  the  way  home  we  caught  up  with  Bob 
Stevens  and  his  sister.  Flo  Stevens  is  a 
mighty  pretty  girl  and  has  stunning  big  gray  eyes. 
She  's  about  eighteen.  I  introduced  Uncle  Rob 
and  we  had  a  lot  of  fun;  for  Bob  was  in  one  of 
his  best  moods,  and  he  's  dandy  company  when  he 
wants  to  be. 

Is  n't  it  odd  how  people  make  their  names  like 
themselves  ?  Now  there  's  Bob  Stevens  and  Uncle 
Rob,  both  with  the  same  name  to  start  with;  — 
but  no  one  in  the  world  would  ever  think  of  call- 
ing Uncle  Rob,  "Bob."  I  don't  know  exactly 
why,  because  he  is  n't  starchy  or  prim,  not  the 
least  bit;  and  he  made  me  begin  calling  him 
"Uncle  Rob,"  right  at  first;  —  but  there's  noth- 
ing rowdy  nor  harum-scarum  about  him.  He 
knows  where  he  's  "at,"  every  second  of  the  time; 
and  while  he  's  full  of  fun  and  can  say  the  most 
ridiculous  things  I  ever  heard,  yet  there  's  a  cer- 
tain fine  dignity  about  him,  that  would  keep  you 
from  calling  him  "Bob,"  even  if  he  were  your 
chum. 

41 


42  '  *    C     H     E     T    '  ' 

With  Bob  Stevens  it 's  different.  He  's  a  sort 
of  happy-go-lucky,  what  's-the-difference-it  's-all- 
in-a-lifetime  kind  of  a  fellow;  —  doing  things  he 
should  n't,  just  because  he  wants  to,  —  and  then 
kicking  himself  afterward;  —  and  then  doing  the 
same  thing  over  again;  —  so  really  "Bob"  just 
fits  him.  That  is,  it  fits  him  on  the  outside;  but 
there  are  things  underneath,  that  you  catch  a 
glimpse  of  only  once  in  a  great  while  when  you 
know  him  real  well;  — -  things  that  make  you  feel 
like  calling  him  "Robert"  and  being  proud  to 
know  him.  Folks  think  him  rowdy  and  conceited, 
—  until  they  catch  a  glimpse  of  his  real  self. 

Bob  and  Flo  came  on  down  to  our  house  and 
we  all  sat  on  the  veranda  for  a  while.  Uncle  Rob 
and  Flo  sat  up  on  the  swinging  seat,  and  Bess 
and  Bob  and  I  sat  down  on  the  steps  and  began 
talking  about  school.  Bob  said  he  hated  like  the 
dickens  to  start  in;  that  he  was  sure  he  would 
scrap  with  the  teacher  because  he  'd  been  sent  up 
there  for  a  reprimand,  from  the  lower  rooms,  two 
or  three  times;  —  and  you  know  you  never  like 
a  person  who  has  only  seen  you  when  you  are 
in  disgrace.  It  really  does  n't  give  a  fellow  a  fair 
show   when    he    begins   to   go   to   school   to   that 


'  *    C     H     E     T   '  '  43 

teacher;  for  they  both  start  in  looking  for  trouble. 
Bob  said  he  did  n't  care,  though,  —  that  he'  eould 
take  care  of  himself,  and  he  'd  bet  the  teacher 
would  have  more  trouble  than  he  would. 

"That  makes  it  look  as  if  things  would  be 
pretty  lively  in  our  room,"  said  Bess, 

"They  sure  will,"  said  Bob.  "  I  Ve  always  been 
to  a  woman-teacher  before,  and  that  sort  of  han- 
dicaps one;  but  I  '11  show  Mr.  Maxon  a  few 
things." 

Bess  leaned  back  against  the  pillar  and  looked 
at  him  with  a  little  smile.  "What's  the  use?" 
she  said. 

"  Well,  I  'm  going  to  show  him  that  he  can't 
run  over  me." 

"How  do  you  know  he  wants  to  ?" 

Bob  hesitated.  "Well,  he  can't,"  he  said  at 
last. 

Bess  bent  forward,  with  her  chin  on  her  hand 
and  her  face  quite  close  to  his,  in  the  gloom,  and 
a  smile  on  her  mouth.  "Bob,"  she  said,  "you 
make  yourself  a  lot  of  trouble,  don't  you  ?" 

Bob  threw  back  his  head.  "No,"  he  said. 
"  I  have  more  fun  than  any  other  fellow  in  town. 
I  do  exactly  as  I  please." 


44  '  '    C     H     E     T    '  ' 

"No,  you  don't,"  said  Bess.  "The  most  of 
the  time  you  do  things  that  you  don't  want 
to." 

"Well,  I  just  do  not!"  said  Bob. 

Bess  nodded.  "Yes,  you  do.  I  have  eyes, 
Bob." 

Bob  straightened  back  his  shoulders  and  looked 
at  her  rather  insolently.  "Oh,  you  have,  have 
you  ?  Well,  M^hat  is  the  first  thing  that  your  eyes 
would  notice  about  me.^"' 

Bess  went  on  smiling.  "Well,"  she  said, 
"  'most  any  one  would  say  that  it  was  conceit  and 
egotism  — "  Bob  looked  pleased,  but  gave  a 
little  ironical  snifF;  "but,"  went  on  Bess,  "/ 
should  say  that  you  hate  yourself  more  than  any 
other  person  I  ever  saw." 

Bob's  face  changed  and  the  arrogance  went  out 
of  his  shoulders.  He  humped  over  and  sat  with 
his  chin  on  his  hands,  not  saying  a  word.  We 
all  three  sat  silent  for  quite  a  long  time.  By  and 
by  Bob  spoke,  his  voice  very  low.  "You  're  right, 
Bess,"  he  said;  "but  no  one  ever  saw  it  before. 
I  don't  do  what  I  want  to  —  I  do  what  I  make 
myself  do;  because  I  don't  know  how  to  be  my- 
self.    I  try  to  make  a  show  of  being  independent. 


'  *    C     H     E     T   '  '  45 

that 's  all.  You  see,  once  when  I  was  a  kid — " 
he  stopped. 

"Go  on,"  said  Bess. 

"Oh,  I  don't  want  to  bore  you  with  the  *  story 
of  my  life,'  "  he  said. 

"Go  on,"  said  Bess. 

"  Well,  I  was  only  eight  years  old,  and  one  even- 
ing I  was  out  in  front  of  the  house,  fooling  around 
with  a  rope.  It  was  an  old  clothes-line  —  I  don't 
know  where  I  got  it;  but  I  was  just  fooling  with  it, 
and  I  thought  it  would  be  fun  to  tie  the  dog  up 
to  the  hitching-post  and  play  he  was  a  horse. 
The  post  was  holding  still  and  the  dog  was  n't, 
and  so  I  tied  one  end  of  the  rope  to  the  post  and 
took  the  other  end  and  started  after  the  dog.  I 
chased  him  across  the  street  and  had  just  got  him 
by  the  collar,  when  along  came  a  man  on  a  bicycle, 
and  it  was  dusk,  and  he  did  n't  see  the  rope,  and 
pitched  over  it.  It  broke  his  machine  all  to  pieces 
and  smashed  him  up  some,  and  I  was  scared  to 
death  and  hid  behind  a  tree.  He  was  the  maddest 
man  you  ever  saw,  —  and  then  the  dog  began  to 
bark  and  that  gave  me  away,  and  he  came  over 
and  grabbed  me  and  asked  me  where  I  lived. 
I  told  him;   but  I  was  too  scared  to  say  anything 


46  *  '    C     H     E     T    '  ' 

else,  and  he  walked  me  over  to  the  house  and  told 
Father  what  I  'd  done,  and  said  I  'd  put  the  rope 
across  the  street  on  purpose  to  trip  people  up,  and 
had  jerked  it  when  he  came  along.  I  suppose  he 
thought  I  did. 

"Father  would  n't  let  me  say  a  word  to  explain; 
but  went  out  and  looked  at  the  rope,  and  then  took 
me  up  stairs  and  thrashed  me;  —  the  first  time 
I  'd  ever  had  a  real  thrashing  in  my  life.  He  used 
a  piece  of  the  rope  to  do  it.  Then  he  told  me  that 
I  was  n't  to  go  out  of  the  house  for  one  month, — 
that  it  was  n't  safe  for  a  person  like  me  to  be  at 
large.  He  never  let  me  say  one  word  about  how 
it  happened.  When  I  would  try  to  tell  him,  he  'd 
press  his  lips  together  and  say:  —  'I  don't  wish 
to  hear  anything  about  it  —  I  saw  the  rope.' 
Mother  and  Flo  were  away  that  Summer,  so  I  was 
all  alone. 

"For  one  month  I  never  set  my  foot  outside 
of  the  house,  not  even  onto  the  veranda;  and 
during  the  whole  time,  I  was  just  sitting  and  star- 
ing at  the  injustice  of  it  all.  A  kid  eight  years 
old  can  do  an  awful  lot  of  thinking  in  a  case  like 
that,  and  it  lasts  him  for  a  mighty  long  time. 
When  any  of  the  boys  asked  Father  where  I  was, 


"    C     H     E     T    '  '  47 

he  said  I  was  staying  in  the  house  because  I 
was  n't  to  be  trusted  outside.  He  thought  it 
would  be  a  lesson  to  them,  too. 

"And,  so  when  at  last  I  did  come  out,  I  found 
that  I  had  the  reputation  of  being  a  regular  tough. 
The  boys  had  told  their  folks,  and  their  folks  had 
forbidden  them  to  play  with  me.  At  first  I  did  n't 
know  what  to  do.  It  hurt  and  I  was  ashamed  and 
miserable  and  just  about  wanted  to  die;  and 
then,  by  and  by  I  noticed  that  the  other  kids  looked 
at  me  with  a  sort  of  awe  and  admiration,  and  I 
found  that  everything  I  did  was  made  ten  times 
worse,  because  I  was  supposed  to  be  so  bad; 
and  so  I  thought  it  over  and  decided  that  if  I 
was  going  to  have  the  name  of  being  tough,  I 
might  as  well  have  the  fun  of  it.  I  was  just  a  little 
kid,  you  know,  less  than  nine  years  old. 

"And  that  way,  I  got  to  doing  things  just  out 
of  daring,  —  to  make  the  boys  open  their  eyes,  — 
not  because  I  wanted  to, —  and  I  've  done  that 
sort  of  thing  ever  since.  You  see,  that  one  little 
incident,  that  was  only  thoughtlessness,  that  I 
never  meant  at  all,  has  grown  to  where  it  has  put 
every  fellow's  hand  against  me, —  and  put  me 
where  I  deserve  to  have  them  against  me." 


48  '  '    C     H     E     T   '  ' 

Bess  had  been  sitting  very  quiet.  She  put  out 
her  hand  then.  "  Here  's  one  that  is  n't  against 
you;   but  for  you/'  she  said. 

He  took  it,  but  did  n't  speak;  and  then  I 
shoved  out  mine  without  saying  a  vv^ord,  and  he 
gripped  it;  —  then  he  got  up.  "Come  on,  Flo," 
he  said,  **  It 's  time  to  go  home  if  you're  going  to 
friz  your  hair  for  the  picnic  to-morrow." 

Flo  jumped  out  of  the  swinging  seat.  "That  *s 
so,"  she  said,  running  her  fingers  through  her 
fluffy  hair.  "Picnic  starts  for  Blennerhasset 
Island  at  nine  in  the  morning,  so  there  's  work 
for  me  and  the  curl-papers." 

"  You  going,  Bob  ^ "     I  asked. 

"No,"  said  Bob,  "I've  got  to  make  some  col- 
lections for  Father  and  I  can't  get  away  so  early. 
But  say,  here  's  an  idea!  I  can  go  right  away 
after  dinner,  and  I  '11  get  out  the  double  team  and 
we  '11  drive  down  there, —  the  three  of  us, —  it 's 
only  a  little  over  twelve  miles,  —  and  row  over  to 
the  island.  We  can  have  supper  with  the  crowd 
and  then  take  Flo  in  and  drive  back  by  moonlight. 
"What  do  you  say?" 

It  sounded  perfectly  good  to  us,  and  so  we  all 


'  *    C     H     E     T    "  49 

agreed  without  any  coaxing,  and   then  Bob  and 
Flo  went  off  home. 

Next  morning  Bob  stopped  as  he  went  by,  to 
say  that  his  father  would  let  him  have  the  horses, 
all  right,  but  that  he  could  n't  get  away  until 
three-thirty.  It  was  a  dandy  day,  and  Bess  and 
I  and  Uncle  Rob  spent  the  morning  out  under  the 
sweet-apple  tree,  Bess  darning  and  Uncle  Rob 
reading  to  us  about  Blennerhasset  and  Aaron 
Burr,  so  as  to  get  "in  the  atmosphere,"  he  said; 
and  I  brought  out  a  picture  of  the  Blennerhasset 
house,  painted  by  a  woman  in  town  who  never  took 
any  lessons,  and  who  traded  the  picture  to  Dad  in 
exchange  for  a  frame  for  another  one.  It  was  all 
right,  only  you  know  the  house  was  built  on  a 
curve,  sort  of  like  a  horse-shoe,  and  in  the  picture 
you  could  n't  tell  whether  the  curve  was  toward 
you  or  away  from  you,  or  whether  it  stood  up  in 
the  air  like  an  arch;  —  it  appeared  a  different 
way  every  time  you  looked  at  it,  and  kept  you 
sort  of  worried  for  fear  that  something  was  the 
matter  with  your  eyes.  She  had  put  some  of 
this  shiny  flitter  all  over  the  trees  and  roof,  too, 
to    make    it    rich,    she    said.     It  was  n't   meant 


so  "    C     H     E     T   '  ' 

for  snow,  because  the  trees  were  all  green,  awfully 
green,  and  the  flitter  was  part  red,  and  pink,  and 
yellow,  and  all  sorts  of  colors.  Uncle  Rob  said  he 
was  glad  he  saw  the  picture,  because  it  made  him 
feel  differently  toward  Aaron  Burr;  for  a  great 
deal  might  be  excused  in  a  fellow  who  was  in  a 
habit  of  seeing  things  like  that.  Bess  took  the 
picture  away  from  me  and  put  in  under  her  darn- 
ing basket;  because  she  said  that  she  could  n't 
forget  it  while  it  was  in  sight.  We  remembered 
the  picture  afterward,  when  we  were  coming  back 
from  the  picnic;  —  but  it  was  n't  hurt  any.  Dad 
said  we  ought  to  have  been  more  careful  of  it 
for  he  had  to  give  as  good  as  two  frames  for  it, 
because  the  woman  had  painted  the  other  picture 
on  both  sides  of  an  academy-board,  and  had  to 
have  it  framed  on  both  sides.  It  was  the  same 
scene,  only  one  was  in  winter  and  the  other  in 
summer,  and  she  wanted  them  so  that  she  could 
have  out  the  one  which  fitted  the  season  best. 
She  was  an  awfully  clever  woman.  The  summer 
scene  had  swans  on  the  water,  and  in  the  winter 
one,  she  changed  them  into  icebergs.  It  changed 
the  size  of  things  so,  by  comparison,  that  when 
you  looked  at  first  one  and  then  the  other,  you 


*  '    C    H     E    T   '  '  51 

felt  as  if  you  were  having  the  "bigs  and  Httles." 
It 's  a  lucky  thing  that  she  could  n't  have  them 
both  out  at  the  same  time. 

After  dinner  Bess  and  Uncle  Rob  came  over 
and  we  waited  for  Bob.  At  three-thirty,  sharp, 
he  drove  up,  and,  say,  the  horses  were  feeling 
fine.  We  made  Uncle  Rob  sit  with  him,  on  the 
front  seat,  because  the  scenery  would  all  be  new 
to  him;  but  Bess  and  I  sat  with  our  chins  on  the 
back  of  the  seat  the  most  of  the  way. 

"Pretty  good  horses,"  said  Uncle  Rob,  when 
we  were  started. 

"Yep,"  said  Bob.     "They've  only  one  fault, 
and  that 's  when  they  see  a  railroad  train." 
"Scared.?"   asked  Uncle  Rob. 
"No,"   said    Bob.      "They   don't  wait  to   be 
scared!" 

"What  do  they  do?"   asked  Uncle  Rob. 
"Don't  know.     They  never  do  it  twice  alike." 
"Any  railroad  tracks  where  we  're  going?" 
"All  the  way  down  one  side  of  the  road." 
"  Sounds  interesting,"  said  Uncle  Rob.  "  What 's 
on  the  other  side  ?" 

"Thirty  foot  bank  and  the  Ohio  River." 
"More  interesting  still,"  said  Uncle  Rob, 


52  '  '    C    H     E    T   '  ' 

I  knew  that  Bob  was  testing  his  nerve;  but  he 
did  n't  scare  for  a  cent. 

"Well,"  said  Bob,  seeing  that  Uncle  Rob  was 
game,  "there  is  n't  any  danger,  for  Father 
would  n't  let  me  take  the  team  unless  I  *d  promise 
to  get  out  and  hold  them  by  the  bits  when  the 
trains  passed;  —  and,  anyway,  there  isn't  a 
train  more  'n  a  couple  of  times  a  day." 

"And  you  're  going  to  get  out  and  hold  'em  if 
a  train  comes?"  I  asked,  for  I  knew  that  Bob 
was  a  splendid  driver. 

"I  said  I  would,"  said  Bob.  "I  would  any- 
way," he  added,  "with  a  girl  in." 

We  crossed  the  bridge  over  the  Muskingum 
and  drove  through  the  west  side  of  town,  and  Bob 
pointed  out  where  the  old  Fort  Harmar  used  to 
stand;  and  by  and  by  we  swung  into  the  river 
road,  and  it  sure  was  fine!  The  day  was  gorgeous, 
and  all  along  the  river  bank  were  great  masses 
of  trumpet-flower  in  full  bloom,  loaded  down  with 
deep  orange  clusters  of  sturdy,  long-tubed  flowers, 
and  glossy,  sharp-cut  leaves.  We  always  called 
it  Virginia  creeper;  but  that  is  n't  the  right  name. 
And  all  about  and  mixed  with  it  was  wild  clematis 
gone  to  seed,  clambering  madly  all  over  and  about 


*  *    C     H     E     T   '  '  53 

it  and  tangling  and  untangling  itself,  and  veiling 
everything  with  the  smoky  streamers  of  its  seed- 
whorls.  The  vines  wrestled  with  each  other  clear 
down  to  the  water,  and  that  was  yellow,  as  usual, 
and  scarcely  rippling  at  all;  —  and  away  over 
on  the  other  side,  a  half  a  mile  across,  were  the 
blue  Virginia  hills.  It  was  warm  and  still,  with 
just  a  little  rustle  of  the  leaves,  and  now  and  then 
the  splash  of  a  catfish  in  the  water.  It  seems 
to  me  that  I  never  saw  the  colors  so  beautiful 
before;  and  Uncle  Rob  was  so  enthusiastic  over 
everything,  that  we  were  all  desperately  proud 
because  all  of  this  "belonged"  to  us.  I  believe 
that  the  only  time  we  ever  seem  to  realize  that 
everything  beautiful  really  belongs  to  each  one 
of  us,  is  when  we  take  some  one  to  see  some  par- 
ticular place  or  thing  that  he  has  never  seen  before. 
We  feel,  for  the  moment,  all  the  pride  of  posses- 
sion, and  all  of  the  generosity  and  delight  of  shar- 
ing a  real  treasure  with  him.  (Is  n*t  it  odd  how 
words  and  phrases  come,  and  arrange  themselves 
right,  when  we  are  thinking  big  thoughts .?  I 
believe  we  'd  all  use  better  language,  if  we  thought 
better  thoughts.  I  know  I  surprise  myself  some- 
times, when  I  forgot  the  way  I  'm  saying  things, 


54  '  *    C     H     E     T    '  ' 

in  the  interest  of  what  I  'm  thinking.  The  smart- 
est part  of  me  is  the  part  that  gets  away  when  I 
look  for  it.) 

Well,  sir,  all  along  that  drive,  Bess  and  I  and 
Bob  felt  exactly  as  if  we  had  a  big  paper  bag  of 
good  things  and  were  passing  them  out  one  at 
a  time,  and  watching  to  see  how  Uncle  Rob  would 
enjoy  the  flavor  of  each.  Whenever  we  'd  come  to 
a  bend  in  the  road  where  we  knew  there  would 
be  a  particularly  beautiful  view,  we  'd  lean  away 
forward  and  give  a  glance  to  see  if  it  was  still 
there;  and  then  we  'd  watch  Uncle  Rob's  face, 
to  see  how  he  liked  our  latest  gift.  I  tell  you  we 
surely  did  have  a  fine  time.  If  we  'd  owned  every 
foot  of  the  country  in  sight,  we  would  n't  have  felt 
one  scrap  prouder  or  more  important. 

By  and  by  I  saw  Bess  suddenly  prick  up  her 
ears.     "What  is  it?"    I  asked. 

"Thought  I  heard  a  train  coming." 

Bob  stopped  the  horses  and  listened;  but  there 
was  no  sound.  "False  alarm,"  said  Uncle  Rob. 
We  went  on. 

In  about  a  minute  the  sound  came  again.  It 
was  a  peal  of  thunder.      "There,  that's  what  I 


'  *    C     H     E     T   "  55 

heard!"  said  Bess.  "It  was  farther  off,  and  I 
thought  it  was  the  rumbling  of  a  train." 

"Where  does  it  come  from.''"  said  Uncle  Rob. 
"It  sounds  like  *  a  bolt  out  of  a  clear  sky.'" 

We  could  n't  see  any  clouds  then;  for  the  hills 
cut  them  off;  but  in  a  few  moments  the  birds 
began  calling  and  flying  about  wildly,  and  little 
ripples  went  fluttering  all  over  the  water;  and 
then,  suddenly  the  sun  was  put  out,  and  the  sky 
went  black,  all  in  a  minute. 

"Coming  up  fast,  is  n't  she  V  said  Uncle  Rob. 
"Any  shelter  near.?" 

"Nope,"  said  Bob.     "Not  a  thing." 

"  Well,  suppose  we  put  up  the  side-curtains  — 
and  look  pleasant." 

We  got  the  curtains  up  just  in  time,  and  then 
the  storm  broke.  Gee,  but  it  was  a  corker!  The 
rain  just  simply  slopped  over  as  if  something  up 
above  was  too  full;  and  the  thunder  and  light- 
ning kept  up  a  steady  squabble  to  see  which  would 
get  there  first.  It  was  like  being  right  in  the  middle 
of  Balaklava;  and  every  time  that  the  artillery 
went  ofi^,  which  was  all  the  time,  those  horses 
did    stunts.      You   never   saw   anything   like   it. 


56  *  *    C     H     E     T    '  ' 

They  tried  to  go  backward  and  forward  and  up  in 
the  air  at  the  same  time,  and  they  pretty  near 
did  it.  I  don't  see  how  Bob  ever  kept  them  in 
the  road;  but  there  was  n't  any  other  place  for 
'em  to  go  except  into  the  river,  and  so  it  was  up 
to  him.  As  the  storm  went  on,  they  kept  getting 
worse  —  sort  of  accumulating  more  scare  all  the 
time  —  and  by  and  by  Bob  said  that  he  guessed 
Bess  would  better  get  out,  even  if  it  was  pouring  — 
that  is,  if  he  could  hold  'em  still  long  enough  — 
but  he  could  n't.  Every  time  he  would  try  to 
stop  'em  they  'd  back,  and  keep  on  backing  and 
doing  sixteen  other  things  at  the  same  time,  and 
so  after  two  or  three  attempts,  he  said,  — 

"  Bess,  I  think  it 's  too  wet  for  you  to  get  out." 

"I  think  so  too,"  she  said.  *'I  didn't  bring 
my  rubbers,"  and  then  we  all  laughed.  Bess  held 
her  nerve  beautifully. 

We  kept  on  down  the  road,  and  gradually  the 
horses  quieted  some,  although  the  storm  did  n't 
seem  to  die  down  much. 

"Nice  day  for  a  picnic,"  said  Uncle  Rob. 

"All  kinds  of  a  fine  day,"  said  Bob. 

"Going  to  sit  on  the  grass  and  eat  sandwiches 
for  supper,  I  suppose,  Bess  ?" 


*  *    C     H     E     T   '  '  57 

"No,  I  'm  going  to  sit  on  the  book  you  were 
reading  this  morning,  if  you  have  it  with  you." 

"  I  have  n't,  Bessie,  my  dear.  It  lies  under  the 
sweet-apple  tree,  along  with  your  darning  and  the 
picture  of  the  wonderful  house  which  flaps  its 
wings  like  a  jub-jub  bird.  It  is  no  longer  dry. 
You  '11  have  to  stand  on  one  foot  while  you  eat 
your  sandwiches.  That  way,  you  can  keep  the 
other  from  getting  wet." 

"They'll  be  soaked  through  and  through," 
moaned  Bess. 

"What .?     Your  feet  or  the  sandwiches  .?" 

"No,  no!  Everything  —  everybody  at  the  pic- 
nic. 

"They  certainly  will,"  said  Uncle  Rob. 

"Want  to  turn  around  ?"   asked  Bob. 

"Indeed  no,"  said  Uncle  Rob,  "not  unless  the 
rest  of  you  have  a  chill  in  your  ardor.  A  wet 
picnic  is  likely  to  be  interesting.  Maybe  it  was  at 
such  a  one  that  the  lady  got  the  conception  of 
her  picture  of  the  house."  I  giggled  and  Bess 
looked  mystified. 

The  storm  was  still  holding  on  pretty  steadily, 
and  the  thunder  seemed  to  stay  right  overhead, 
and  it  took  all  of  Bob's  attention  for  the  horses, 


58  *  '    C     H     E     T   '  ' 

though  they  were  behaving  a  lot  better  than  they 
had  been.  "  Do  you  think  we  'd  better  go  back, 
Bob  ?"   asked  Bess. 

Bob  shook  his  head.  "This  sort  of  thing  just 
makes  me  want  to  win,"  he  said.  "I  hate  to  be 
worsted!" 

So  we  kept  on,  and  the  storm  kept  right  along 
with  us,  and  the  road  got  to  be  something  dread- 
ful. We  were  n't  much  wet;  for  the  storm  had 
not  gotten  in  front  of  us;  but  the  horses  were 
perfectly  soused. 

We  were  between  two  and  three  miles  above  the 
island,  when  Bess  pricked  up  her  ears  again. 
She  has  awfully  quick  hearing.  "  What  was  that  ?  " 
she  said. 

"Sounded  like  a  fog-horn,"  said  Uncle  Rob. 

"It  was  n't,"  said  Bess,  with  conviction.  "Look 
out." 

Uncle  Rob  leaned  out  and  looked  through  the 
wet  trees  along  the  bank,  the  moist  twigs  slap- 
ping .his  face;  then  he  turned  back.  "That, 
Bessie,  my  dear,  was  the  whistle  of  a  steam-boat, 
—  a  fine  large  steamboat  working  her  way  up 
the  river.  On  board,  she  has  a  picnic  party  — 
a  wet  but  happy  picnic  party,  which  will  eat  its 


*  '    C     H     E     T    '  '  59 

sandwiches  sitting  upon  nice  dry  chairs  in  the 
cabin.  Is  there  anything  more  that  you  wish  to 
know  ?" 

We  all  leaned  out  and  watched  the  boat  pass 
up  the  river.  "A  pretty  boat,  isn't  she.?"  said 
Uncle  Rob.  "And  there  is  music  aboard,  and 
dancing, —  and  sandwiches!  You  don't  happen 
to  have  a  sandwich  with  you,  do  you,  Elizabeth  ? 
—  one  that  is  n't  working  ?" 

Bess  shook  her  head.  "If  I  had,  it  would  n't 
go  begging  for  shelter,"  she  said. 

Bob  grinned.  "There  's  a  chocolate  sundae 
in  one  of  my  pockets,"  he  said.  "It  was  choco- 
late creams  when  I  started;  but  the  last  time  that 
I  put  my  hand  in,  I  could  n't  recognize  them. 
I  'm  not  offering  you  any,  because  the  pocket 
would  have  to  go  with  them,  and  I  need  it." 

We  had  passed  the  boat  very  quickly;  for  the 
horses  were  still  tearing  along  and  keeping  Bob 
busy  with  the  reins;  but  presently  I  got  interested. 
"Where  you  going,  Bob.?"    I  asked. 

"Don't  know,"  said  Bob. 

"Why  don't  you  turn  around  ?"  said  I.  "Don't 
you  know  when  Fate  has  worsted  you .'"' 

"Chet,"  said  Uncle  Rob,  —  "I  saw  you  run- 


6o  '  '    C     H     E     T    '  ' 

ning  on  the  top  rail  of  the  fence  this  morning. 
Why  did  n't  you  turn  around  ?" 

"Couldn't  stop  long  enough,"  I  said;  —  "and 
if  I  could,  it  was  n't  wide  enough  to  turn  on." 

"Same  here,"  said  Bob.  "This  road  has  a 
hill  on  each  side,  —  one  goes  up  and  the  other  goes 
down,  —  and  we  don't  want  to  do  either." 

Well,  we  went  more  than  a  mile  farther  before 
we  found  a  place  where  we  could  turn  around, 
and  that  brought  us  into  a  small  town.  Bob  said 
that  we  could  get  out  and  go  back  on  the  train 
if  we  wanted  to  —  if  there  should  happen  to  be 
a  train;  —  but  we  were  all  game  and  decided  to 
stick  to  him  and  take  our  chances.  So  we  turned 
around  and  started  back.  The  thunder  and 
lightning  were  about  over;  but  it  was  raining  in 
sheets,  and  as  soon  as  we  turned,  it  drove  straight 
into  the  carriage  so  that  Uncle  Rob  came  back  onto 
the  back  seat  with  Bess  and  me.  Bob  would 
have  come  back,  too,  only  the  lines  were  n't 
long  enough  to  reach,  and  as  he  had  forgotten  to 
put  in  the  apron,  he  stood  for  a  good  soaking. 

And  then  that  rambunctous  storm  saw  that  we 
were  giving  it  the  slip,  and  it  stopped  for  a  mo- 
ment, and  then  came  back  after  us,  full  tilt!     Gee, 


'  *    C    H     E    T   "  6i 

it  landed  on  us  from  all  directions  at  once,  and 
the  thunder  and  lightning  had  a  catch-as-catch- 
can  wrestling  match,  square  over  our  heads.  It 
sure  was  a  great  show,  and  the  horses  got  hold  of 
a  lot  of  new  stunts  they  had  n't  thought  of  before, 
and  things  got  as  interesting  as  they  were  on  the 
way  down;  —  and  then,  at  last,  when  there  came 
a  little  lull  in  the  storm,  we  heard  a  train  whistle! 
Bob  tried  to  pull  up.  "Guess  we'd  better  all 
get  out,"  he  said.  "The  track  is  right  above  us 
here,  and  the  horses  are  ugly  enough  now;  —  and 
anyway,  I  will  have  to."  So  he  drove  as  slowly 
as  he  could,  and  got  the  horses  quieted  down 
some,  and  luckily  there  was  no  hard  thunder  for 
a  few  minutes,  and  Uncle  Rob  climbed  over  the 
seat  and  took  the  lines,  and  then  Bob  jumped  out 
and  got  to  their  heads,  and  between  the  two  of 
them,  they  brought  us  to  a  standstill,  —  or*  nearly 
so.  Then  Bess  and  I  got  out  and  stood  in  the 
gutter,  because  it  was  better  than  the  mud,  and 
Uncle  Rob  took  one  horse's  head  and  Bob  kept  the 
other,  and  then  we  stood  and  waited  for  the  train. 
We  could  hear  it  rumbling  nearer  and  nearer, 
and  the  boys  took  a  fresh  grip  on  the  bits  and  — 
we  kept  on  waiting. 


62  *  *    C     H     E     T   '  ' 

By  and  by  the  rumbling  seemed  to  begin  to 
grow  fainter.  Uncle  Rob  cocked  his  head. 
"Wind's  changing,"  he  said. 

Then,  suddenly,  Bess  snickered,  and  at  the 
same  moment  came  a  faint,  weak  little  whistle 
screech,  and  Bob  and  I  looked  the  way  she  was 
pointing,  and  there,  clear  across  the  river,  half  a 
mile  away,  was  a  nice  little  railroad  train,  trun- 
dling along  as  innocently  as  could  be! 

For  one  second  Bob  looked  as  if  he  was  going 
to  say  something  to  match  the  expression  of  his 
face;  and  then  he  caught  sight  of  Uncle  Rob,  who 
was  standing  with  his  back  that  way,  his  feet 
planted  ankle  deep  in  the  red  clay  and  both  hands 
on  the  bit  of  his  horse,  —  and  he  grinned,  instead. 

"Hold  hard  there!  "  he  said,  —  "there's  the 
train!" 

Uncle  Rob  turned  and  looked  across  the  river. 
"H'm,"  he  said,  interestedly,  "passenger  train, 
is  n't  it .?  Two  coaches  and  a  mail  car.  Nice 
little  train." 

"Yes,"  said  Bob,  "engine  's  got  a  smoke-stack, 
a  cow-catcher,  and  a  tender.  'Most  as  pretty  as 
the  boat,  is  n't  it?" 

Then  we  all  laughed. 


*  '    C     H     E     T   '  '  63 

"  Think  it 's  safe  to  go  in  out  of  the  rain  now  ? " 
asked  Uncle  Rob.  "Nicehorsie.  They  maligned 
you!  You  are  n't  afraid  of  railroad  trains,  are 
you  ?  You  never  so  much  as  batted  an  eye  when 
that  one  went  by." 

Then  we  all  piled  back  into  the  carriage,  tak- 
ing a  part  of  the  country  road  with  us. 

"It 's  a  shame,"  said  Bob,  "to  have  got  you  all 
out  that  way;  but  I  forgot  all  about  the  railroad 
on  the  other  side  of  the  river;  —  and  this  road  is 
so  desperately  narrow  right  here,  and  besides, 
I  'd  promised." 

"No  apology  necessary,"  said  Uncle  Rob. 
"We  owe  you  a  vote  of  thanks  for  having  the 
train  go  by  on  the  other  side,  instead  of  over  here. 
Much  obliged  to  you." 

Bob  laughed,  and  we  started  on  again.  The 
storm  had  settled  down  into  a  steady  rain  and  blow 
with  a  good  deal  of  thunder  and  lightning,  and 
the  road  got  to  be  something  awful.  The  clay 
gathered  on  the  horses'  feet  and  then  more  stuck 
to  that,  and  then  more  to  that,  until  they  looked 
as  if  they  were  walking  with  a  peck  measure  on 
each  foot;  and  the  road  was  as  slippery  as  grease, 
and  there  were  washouts  every  little  ways. 


64  '  *    C     H     E     T    '  ' 

By  and  by  it  began  to  get  dark,  and  I  began  to 
get  worried.  There  had  been  some  washouts 
when  we  came  down,  and  I  knew  they  'd  be  enough 
sight  worse  by  now;  and  in  the  dark,  and  with 
those  nervous  horses  —  well,  things  did  n't  look 
good  to  me,  —  not  a  bit,  they  did  n't. 

Once  or  twice  we  lurched  pretty  hard,  and  so, 
after  a  while  I  unbuttoned  the  curtain  of  the  car- 
riage on  my  side,  the  side  away  from  the  river, 
and  rolled  it  up. 

"What  are  you  doing  that  for?"  asked  Uncle 
Rob. 

"  It 's  close  in  here,"  I  said. 

The  carriage  lurched  again  and  the  horses  did 
some  struggling.  The  night  had  become  perfectly 
black,  and  we  had  no  carriage-lamps.  "Say," 
I  said,  "  I  Ve  been  sitting  this  way  until  I  'm 
cramped  to  pieces.     Let 's  change  places." 

"How?"   asked  Uncle  Rob. 

"Why,"  I  said,  "you  sit  on  this  side  and  take 
Bess  on  your  lap.    That  '11  give  us  all  more  room." 

"All  right,  Chet,"  said  Uncle  Rob,  and  we 
changed;  —  and  when  there  came  a  flash  of  light- 
ning, I  saw  that  he  was  sitting  away  forward  with 
Bess  on  his  knees,  and  one  foot  out  on  the  step 


*  *    C    H     E    T   '  '  65 

of  the  carriage,  —  and  then  I  knew  that  he  had 
understood. 

After  that  we  were  all  very  quiet.  The  wind 
blew  and  rattled  the  carriage  curtains,  the  wheels 
lurched  and  slid,  and  the  horses  snorted  and 
struggled  through  the  greasy  clay.  Bob  had  not 
spoken  for  a  long  time;  but  with  every  flash  of 
lightning  I  could  catch  a  glimpse  of  his  face, 
very  white,  and  wet,  and  his  jaw  set  hard. 

"Are  you  frightened,  Bess?"  I  said,  after  a 
while;   for  she  was  so  quiet. 

"No,"  she  said,  and  her  voice  was  perfectly 
natural. 

"Then  why  don't  you  talk  V 

"I  —  I  have  some  thinking  to  do,"  she  said. 

I  said  "all  right."  To  tell  the  truth,  I  was 
doing  some  pretty  hard  thinking,  myself,  and 
was  n't  absolutely  in  need  of  conversation. 

Presently,  in  the  glare  of  a  flash  of  lightning, 
I  thought  I  saw  something  that  made  me  lean 
forward  and  wait  for  another  flash.  When  it 
came,  I  caught  my  breath.  There  was  a  long 
streak  of  blood  across  Bob's  white  cheek. 

I  waited  a  moment.  I  did  n't  want  to  frighten 
Bess.     The  next  flash  showed  more  blood  which 


66  '  *    C     H     E     T   '  ' 

he  was  trying  to  wipe  away  with  a  red-streaked 
hand. 

"What's  the  matter,  Bob?"  I  asked,  and  I 
knew  that  my  voice  sounded  odd  and  strained. 

Bob  did  n't  answer  for  a  moment,  and  then  the 
words  came  thick  and  sulky :  —  "  I've  got  the 
blamed  nosebleed,  and  I  've  used  up  all  my  hand- 
kerchiefs!" 

The  relief  was  so  great  that  we  all  burst  out 
laughing,  and  then  I  knew  that  Bess  and  Uncle 
Rob  had  seen,  too.  Bob  joined  in  the  laugh  as 
well  as  he  could,  and  reached  for  the  first  of  the 
three  handkerchiefs  which  were  thrust  over  his 
shoulder. 

The  laugh  had  broken  the  strain,  and  somehow, 
although  there  was  still  a  mile  or  so  of  dreadful 
road  before  us,  we  seemed  to  have  gotten  all  over 
our  worry,  just  as  if  we  were  on  safe  ground  again. 
Uncle  Rob  started  in,  half  joking  and  half  in 
earnest:  —  "Now,  Bess,  if  this  vehicle  begins  to 
keel  toward  the  river,  I  'm  going  to  throw  you  out, 
and  it  will  be  up  to  you  to  catch  hold  of  something 
on  that  hillside  out  there.  Have  your  finger- 
nails and  toe-nails  and  teeth  ready,  and  don't 
let  anything  get  away  from  you;    for  if  you  slide 


'  *    C     H     E     T   '  '  67 

back  into  the  clay  of  this  road,  it  will  take  a  derrick 
to  get  you  out,  and  a  flat  car  to  get  you  to  where 
we  can  remove  a  few  tons  of  superfluous  soil." 

"All  right,"  said  Bess;  "but  please  choose  a 
place  where  there  are  no  thistles.  I  saw  whole 
beds  of  them  on  that  bank,  as  we  came  down." 

"So  did  I,"  said  Uncle  Rob.  "They  had  nice 
big  purple  blossoms  on  them,  and  pretty,  feathery, 
fly-away  seeds;  —  but  I  have  n't  seen  any  at  all 
for  more  than  an  hour,  so  don't  worry." 

"No,  nor  you  have  n't  seen  anything  else  either. 
Never  mind.  Toss  me  where  you  choose.  I  'm 
not  afraid."  And  I  honestly  believe  that  she  was 
not. 

It  was  queer  how  the  weight  seemed  to  have 
lifted  off  of  all  of  us.  I  am  perfectly  sure  that  if 
anything  had  happened  then,  we  would  have 
had  our  wits  about  us  so  well  that  we  would  have 
known  just  what  to  do,  and  would  n't  have  been 
hurt  at  all.  It  makes  a  lot  of  diff'erence,  when  you 
are  in  danger,  whether  you  are  scared  stiflT,  or 
have  yourself  so  well  in  hand  that  you  are  all  on 
the  alert  to  meet  whatever  comes  and  do  the  best 
thing,  right  on  the  spur  of  the  moment.  That 's 
why  a  coward  is  always  getting  hurt;  —  he  gets 


68  *  '    C     H     E     T   '  ' 

rattled  and  has  no  confidence,  and  then  the  least 
thing  bowls  him  over,  because  his  wits  are  all 
in  a  jumble  and  not  in  working  order.  At  least, 
that 's  the  way  I  look  at  it. 

Well,  by  and  by  we  came  to  where  the  road  turns 
away  from  the  river,  and  we  jolted  over  the  rail- 
road track,  and  pretty  soon  we  were  back  in  town 
—  and  then  across  the  bridge  —  and  then  up  the 
hill  to  our  street. 

Gee,  but  we  were  hungry!  We  had  n't  had 
a  thing  to  eat  since  dinner,  and  it  was  nine  o'clock. 
Bess  wanted  us  all  to  go  into  her  house  and  help 
her  make  a  raid  on  the  refrigerator;  but  Bob 
could  n't,  because  he  said  he  had  to  get  the  horses 
into  the  stable  first  of  anything.  So  we  all  leaned 
over  and  shook  hands  with  him  and  told  him  what 
a  perfectly  fine  time  we  'd  had;  and  he  said  he 
hoped  to  be  able  to  repeat  it  in  detail  some  time, 
and  Uncle  Rob  said  to  be  sure  to  give  him  plenty 
of  advance  notice,  as  he  was  liable  to  be  called 
away  on  business  suddenly,  and  would  n't  want 
to  miss  the  chance  —  of  being  called  away  at  the 
right  time.  You  never  saw  a  wet  crowd  in  such 
good  spirits  in  your  life,  and  we  laughed  and 
chaffed,  until  Bob  had  turned  the  corner. 


'  '    C    H     E    T   *  '  69 

I  had  to  go  home  to  get  into  some  dry  clothes 
before  eating.  Bess  had  run  up  the  steps  and  I 
looked  after  her.  "  Has  n't  she  got  the  most  grit 
of  any  girl  you  ever  saw .?"    I  said  to  Uncle  Rob. 

"  She  has  something  better  than  grit,  Chester," 
he  said.  "Grit  puts  you  on  a  tension  —  con- 
fidence leaves  you  normal.  Which  has  the  best 
'staying  power,'  do  you  think.''  Turn  that  over 
in  your  mind  a  little  —  it 's  interesting,"  and  he 
ran  up  the  steps  after  her. 


CHAPTER   IV 

DOWNS   AND   UPS 

'T^HE  next  morning,  right  after  breakfast,  I 
went  out  to  the  sweet-apple  tree  and  whistled 
until  Bess  came  out.  She  came  running  down  the 
board-walk,  her  braids  flying  and  her  arms  wav- 
ing wildly,  and  I  knew  right  off  that  there  was 
something  in  the  wind.  As  soon  as  she  was  within 
shouting  distance,  she  began,  — 

"  Oh,  Chet,  Chet,  what  do  you  think  .?  I'm 
going  to  take  a  trip  with  Father,  and  I  'm  going 
to  Chicago,  and  Indianapolis,  and  everywhere! 
Oh,  I  'm  so  glad,  I  'm  so  glad!" 

I  was  n't! 

Bess  saw  in  a  minute,  how  I  felt,  and  a  good 
deal  of  the  shine  went  out  of  her  face.  She  dropped 
down  onto  the  grass  and  sat  smoothing  her  dress 
over  her  knees  and  pursing  her  lips. 

"It  is  kind  of  mean,  is  n't  it  .^"    she  said,  a  lot 

of  change  in  her  voice.     "I  'm  just  as  selfish  as  I 

can  be  —  not  to  think  of  anybody  but  ME  !  But, 

Chet,"  and  she  looked  up  at  me,  part  of  the  light 

coming  back  into  her  eyes;  "  it 's  going  to  be  awfully 

nice;  for  you  know  how  much  I  've  always  wanted 

70 


'  '   C     H     E    T   '  '  71 

to  go  wandering,  and  Father  is  going  to  have  me 
travel  alone  some  of  the  time,  so  I  can  learn  to  have 
confidence;  and  I  'm  going  to  take  my  type-writer, 
and  —  " 

"When  you  going?"    I  asked. 

"To-morrow  night." 

I  sat  down  and  began  whittling  a  cleat  for  the 
crow's-nest.  I  knew  I  ought  to  be  glad  for  her: 
but  I  was  n't.  I  had  been  dreadfully  lonesome 
while  she  was  away,  —  and  now  to  have  her  go- 
ing traipsing  right  off  again  —  well,  I  was  n't  mad, 
but  I  was  all-fired  blue. 

"What  about  school?"    I  said. 

"Why,  I  '11  miss  some,  of  course,"  said  Bess; 
"but  Father  thinks  that  the  trip  will  be  of  a  lot 
more  use  to  me.  He  has  it  all  planned  out. 
We  're  going  to  Chicago  first,  and  he  's  going  to 
leave  me  there  for  a  few  days,  or  a  week;  and  then 
he  's  going  to  take  me  to  Indianapolis,  and  I  'II 
be  there  for  a  week  or  more,  and  then  I  '11  go  by 
myself  to  Columbus,  Ohio,  and  he  'II  meet  me 
there;  then  I  'II  go  alone  to  Washington,  and 
he  '11  come  there;  and  then  to  some  other  places, 
I  forget  some  of  them,  and  then  back  to  Chicago, 
and  then  home." 


72  '  *    C     H     E     T   '  ' 

"What 's  his  idea  in  tiring  you  all  out  with  a 
long  trip  like  that  ?" 

"Well,  I  told  you,  he  wants  me  to  see  the  places, 
and  to  learn  to  take  care  of  myself,  and  he  wants 
to  have  me  with  him  some,  and  —  and  —  " 

"And  what?" 

Bess  hesitated,  and  picked  a  head  of  timothy 
to  pieces.  "Well,  I  '11  tell  you,  Chet,"  she  said, 
at  last,  and  I  saw  the  red  come  up  into  her  face; 
"You  know  I  learned  to  use  the  type-writer  last 
winter,  and  when  I  went  East,  Father  told  me  I 
could  take  it  with  me,  if  I  would  promise  to  write 
him  long  letters  on  it.  He  says  it 's  a  great  thing 
to  learn  to  think  on  a  type-writer;  because  you 
can  write  so  fast  that  you  don't  lose  your  best 
thoughts  before  you  can  get  them  down.  And 
so  I  've  been  writing  him  long  letters  all  Summer; 
—  not  so  much  about  places  and  people  and 
things,  but  about  what  places  and  people  and 
things  made  me  think,  —  and  about  what  hap- 
pened to  me.  And  —  "  Bess  picked  harder  at  the 
timothy,  " —  and  Father  says  they  were  very  good 
letters  indeed," —  I  nodded.  I  knew  what  those 
type-written  pages  were  like !  —  "  and  that  —  well, 
he  said  a  good  many  things  about  them,  —  and 


"    C     H     E     T    "  73 

he  wants  me  to  go  around  some,  and  have  expe- 
riences, and  write  to  him  about  them.  He  says 
it  will  be  good  practice  and  —  and  — "  Bess 
stopped. 

I  laid  down  the  cleat  and  looked  at  her.  I 
someway  felt  as  if  I  had  suddenly  caught  a  glimpse 
of  something  very  wonderful, —  something  I  'd 
known  was  there  all  the  time,  but  had  not  really 
sensed;  and  I  felt  awed  and  startled.  I  suddenly 
knew  that  the  type-written  letters  that  Bess  had 
sent  to  me,  were  not  interesting  only  because  they 
were  from  some  one  I  knew  and  liked,  but 
because  they  were  clever  and  full  of  unusual 
things;  and  I  knew  that  the  things  in  them  which 
had  made  me  laugh,  were  the  sort  of  things  that 
would  make  others  laugh,  and  the  things  that 
had  made  me  swallow  hard,  would  make  lumps 
come  in  the  throats  of  other  people.  I  think  I 
felt  a  little  afraid  of  Bess  for  a  moment. 

By  and  by  I  tocjk  a  long  breath.  "Is  that  what 
you  want  to  do,  Bess?"    I  asked,  soberly. 

Bess  clasped  her  hands  so  tightly  that  there 
were  little  white  spots  where  her  fingers  came. 
"Oh, -if  I  only  could,  Chet!"  she  said,  sort  of 
choked. 


74  '  *   C    H     E    T   '  ' 

"And  you  never  said  one  word  about  it,  when 
I  told  you  all  my  plans,  about  being  a  civil  engi- 
neer, and  everything?" 

"  O  Chet,  I  did  n't  really  have  any  plans. 
I  did  n't  even  hope  the  least  bit,  —  it  looked  too 
big  for  me  to  ever  even  think  about  except  in  the 
dark,  and  I  don't  hardly  dare  to  talk  about  it 
now.  Father  says  my  work  is  very  crude  yet, 
but  that  it  has  something  in  it  that  is  'different'; 
and  so  he  says  that  he  has  hopes  that  if  I  keep 
everlastingly  at  it,  I  may  some  time  be  able  to 
do  something  worth  while." 

"  But  why  can't  you  do  it  here,  just  as  well  V 

"Oh,  he  says  it's  so  easy  to  drop  off  anything 
like  that,  when  one  is  always  in  the  same  surround- 
ings; and  he  wants  me  to  'get  the  habit';  and 
the  main  thing,  at  first,  is  to  have  something  that 
you  just  have  to  write  about;  to  get  it  out  of  your 
system;  and  he  thinks  that  if  I  'm  travelling  and 
having  experiences,  and  among  strangers,  so  that 
I  won't  have  any  one  to  talk  it  out  to,  that  I  '11 
put  it  on  the  type-writer  to  him  in  letters.  But  he 
said  "  —  Bess  laughed  and  rocked  back  and  forth, 
"he  said  that  if  he  caught  me  trying  to  'write 
fine,'  instead  of  in  the  natural  way,  as  I  've  been 


'  '    C    H    E    T   '  '  7^ 

doing,  he  'd  telegraph  me  to  go  home.  He  was 
afraid  that  talking  it  over  might  make  me  self- 
conscious,  and  spoil  everything." 

I  sat  still  and  whittled  on  the  cleat.  There 
did  n't  seem  to  be  anything  to  say.  I  'd  planned 
so  much  for  the  Autumn  —  the  things  we'd  do 
when  Bess  got  home,  —  and  now  it  was  all  up. 
Of  course,  I  was  glad  for  Bess,  —  I  could  see 
how  much  the  trip  was  going  to  mean  to  her ; 
but  to  think  of  all  of  those  beautiful  Autumn  days 
that  were  coming,  and  no  one  to  chum  with,  — 
that  is,  no  one  with  whom  I  was  in  touch  or  who 
knew  how  I  felt  about  things,  or  who  would 
understand  everything  I  said,  without  a  lot  of 
explanation;  and  when  I'd  been  alone  all  Sum- 
mer —  well,  things  looked  mighty  black,  —  so 
black,  in  fact,  that  I  did  n't  want  to  talk  about 
them;  so  I  started  something  else. 

"Bess,"  I  said,  "are  you  a  Christian  Scientist  V 

Bess  hesitated.  "I  —  I  don't  know,"  she  said, 
"whether  I  ought  to  say  that  I  am,  or  not." 

"  Do  you  mean  that  you  are  n't  quite  sure  that 
you  believe  it  V^ 

"No!  Oh,  no,  not  that  at  all!  I  do  believe  it; 
because   I  can  understand  the  things  it  teaches 


76  "    C     H     E    T   " 

and  it 's  all  reasonable  and  plain  to  me  as  far  as 
I  've  gone  and  I  can't  help  believing  it,  and  I  've 
proved  ever  so  much,  just  as  you  prove  examples 
in  arithmetic.  But,  you  see,  I  have  n't  been  study- 
ing it  long,  —  have  n't  had  time  to  grow  much, 
under  its  influence,  and  I  don't  make  a  very  good 
sample  of  w^hat  it  can  do.  There  are  lots  of 
things  that  I  have  n't  grown  out  of  yet,  and  I 
wouldn't  want  any  one  to  say:  —  'You  needn't 
tell  me  that  Christian  Scientists  are  brave  and 
kind  and  loving;  for  I  know  one  and  she  *s  afraid 
to  go  on  the  water,  and  she  has  "  moods,"  and  there 
are  some  things  she  has  n't  forgiven,  and  she  's 
afraid  to  eat  chicken  —  '  You  see,  Chet,  it 
would  n't  be  fair  to  pick  a  Northern  Spy  in  July 
and  let  it  go  on  exhibition  as  a  sample  of  what 
Northern  Spies  are.  Of  course,  a  person  who 
knows  about  apples,  might  see  that  it  was  a  per- 
fectly good  apple  as  far  as  it  had  gone;  but  a  per- 
son who  did  n't  know,  might  think  that  it  was  the 
best  thing  that  the  tree  could  turn  out,  and  say 
that  he  did  n't  like  the  variety.  I  've  got  to  think 
it  over  for  a  while  and  see  what 's  the  best  thing 
to  do  to  answer  that  question  so  that  folks  will 
know  that  I  am  a   Christian  Scientist  at   heart. 


•  *    C     H     E    T   '  '  11 

and  am  working  it  to  the  surface  just  as  fast  as 
ever  I  can.  I  'd  like  to  get  to  where  people  would 
know  that  I  am  a  Christian  Scientist  without 
ever  asking  a  question,  —  just  because  I  am 
living  Christian  Science!" 

"Well,  you  certainly  are  honest,"  I  said,  "and 
I  can  see  what  you  mean.  A  fellow  would  n't 
feel  exactly  like  announcing  himself  an  athlete, 
and  naming  his  trainer,  when  he  had  taken  only 
two  days'  training  and  had  done  a  few  laps  in 
slow  time  with  some  tumbles;  —  but  still  he'd 
want  folks  to  know  that  he  had  the  makings  of 
one,  and  was  working  along  the  lines  of  the  best 
trainer  to  be  had." 

Bess   nodded.      "That's   the  idea,"   she  said. 

"Well,"  I  said,  "I  don't  believe  you'll  have 
any  trouble  over  it;  for  you  're  square  with  your- 
self, you  always  are,  and  that  means  that  you  '11 
be  square  and  considerate  about  this;  and  if 
you  're  square  with  yourself,  you  will  know  all 
right  what  to  say  when  folks  ask  you;  —  and 
you  '11  know  when  you  are  ready  to  just  stand  up 
and   say:  —  'Yes,   I   am  a  Christian  Scientist."* 

"Yes,"  said  Bess,  soberly,  "I  believe  I  will." 

"And,"  I  went  on,  "you've  got  sense  enough 


78  "    C     H     E     T   '  ' 

not  to  nag  other  people  who  don't  think  just  as 
you  do." 

"I  hope  I  have!"  said  Bess  emphatically. 
"If  any  one  asks  me  what  I  think  of  it,  I  '11  be 
mighty  glad  to  tell  them  that  I  think  it 's  the  very 
best  thing  that  any  one  knows  anything  about,  — 
and  where  he  can  go  to  find  out  what  it  teaches,  — 
but  I  *m  not  going  around  with  a  chip  on  my  shoul- 
der labelled  'Christian  Science,'  nor  telling  people, 
gratis,  that  I  think  they  are  making  mistakes; 
but  I'm  going  to  mind  my  own  business  strictly; 
and  if  I  mind  it  so  well  that  I  accomplish  enough 
to  make  any  one  want  to  ask  me  what  my  recipe 
is,  —  well,  that  will  be  something.'' 

"It  sure  will,"  I  said. 

Bess  got  up.  "I  have  to  go  in  now,"  she  said, 
"and  look  after  my  packing." 

I  picked  up  the  cleat  again  and  began  to  whittle. 
That  word  "packing"  made  things  get  gloomy 
and  my  mouth  taste  bad.  "  Bess,"  I  said, 
whittling  hard,  "what  would  you  do  if  you  felt 
the  way  I  do  about  your  going  away .'"' 

"Why,  I  'd  work  on  it,"  said  Bess. 

"'Work  on  it  V  "    I  repeated.    "Do  you  mean 


'  *    C     H     E     T   '  '  79 

you  *d  say  things  to  yourself?     What  would  you 

5" 

say  r 

"Say!  Why,  it  is  n't  anything  you  say^  Chet, 
it 's  what  you  know, —  what  you  understand, — 
what  you  study  out  and  make  yours." 

"Well,  I  know  I  '11  be  perfectly  miserable  and 
cross  all  the  time  you  're  away.  That 's  where  / 
stand,  —  and  I  don't  have  to  study  it  out,  either." 

"And  you  want  me  to  stay  at  home  ?" 

"No,  of  course  I  don't  want  you  to  stay  at 
home;  —  but  you  see  there  is  n't  any  way  around 
a  thing  like  this,  Science  or  no  Science.  In  ordffr 
for  you  to  be  happy,  I  've  got  to  be  miserable;  — 
so  there  is  n't  any  use  in  'working'  as  you  call  it, 
so  far  as  I  can  see." 

"You  don't  have  to  see,"  said  Bess.  "When 
you  come  to  look  at  it  squarely,  the  only  thing 
that  you  really  want  is  harmony  —  to  feel  that 
things  are  going  right  and  not  jolting  you,  and 
it  looks  to  you  as  if  there  was  n't  any  way  of  having 
it  so;  —  but  there  always  is  a  way,  and  we  have 
to  know  —  " 

"  But  there  is  nt  a  way  in  this  case,"  I  per- 
sisted;   "not  even  if  you  stayed  at  home;    for  if 


8o  '  '    C     H     E     T   '  ' 

you  did,  you  'd  be  miserable,  and  so  of  course  I 
would  be  too,  and  —  " 

Just  then  Bess's  Father  called  her,  and  she  had 
to  run  away,  —  and  I  did  n't  even  get  up  when 
she  went. 

I  sat  there  and  kept  on  whittling  for  quite  a 
while,  until  I  got  the  cleat  done,  and  then  I  climbed 
up  and  nailed  it  in  place;  and  all  the  time  I  could 
feel  that  my  jaws  were  set  and  my  chin  hard  and 
that  there  was  a  deep  wrinkle  between  my  eyes, 
—  and  I  knew  that  I  had  the  making  of  about  the 
ugliest  streak  I  'd  ever  had  in  my  life.  And  so  I 
went  to  work.  I  can  always  work  when  I  have 
that  sort  of  a  streak;  for  I  feel  dogged  and  glum, 
and  I  keep  right  at  a  thing  until  I  get  it  done, 
and  it  has  to  be  done  right,  too.  I  did  a  lot  of 
little  odd  jobs  about  the  yard,  and  then  went  in  to 
dinner. 

I  went  in  cross  and  sat  down  to  the  table  with 
my  lips  pressed  tight  and  my  brows  close  together. 

When  Dad  came  in,  he  was  in  a  fine  humor. 
He  had  had  a  good  morning  at  the  store;  —  Mrs. 
Vickery  had  bought  the  piano  she  'd  been  looking 
at  for  six  months;  and  there  were  two  weddings 
in  sight,  so  there  was  a  lot  of  silver  and  such  stuff 


"    T    J » 


I  don't  see  why  you  should  n't  go  for  a  week  or  so  " 


'  '    C     H     E     T   '  '  8i 

going  out,  and  it  made  him  feel  good.  By  and 
by  he  looked  over  at  me. 

"What  you  looking  that  way  for,  Chet.'"'  he 
asked. 

I  did  n't  answer,  and  Mother  shook  her  head 
at  him  —  she  knows  my  moods,  —  but  he  did  n't 
pay  any  attention. 

"What 's  the  matter  ?"    he  said  again. 

I  knew  I  'd  got  to  answer  some  time,  so  I  said, 
—  "  Bess  is  going  away  again." 

"Where  's  she  going  .f"'   asked  Dad. 

"Chicago,"  I  said. 

"  Leaves  you  pretty  much  alone,  does  n't  it  ? 
Why  don't  you  go  along  ? " 

I  pressed  my  lips  tighter.  I  did  n't  feel  like 
being  joked. 

"Well,"  said  Dad,  "of  course  you  don't  have 
to;  but  I  should  think  it  would  be  a  nice  trip  for 
you. 

I   gasped.      "Aren't  you  fooling.'"'     I   asked. 

"No,"  said  Dad.  "You've  been  home  all 
Summer,  and  helped  in  the  store  a  good  deal,  and 
if  Mr.  Carter  will  take  you  along,  I  don't  see  why 
you  should  n't  go  for  a  week  or  so." 

Gee!     I  just  sat  still  and  stared. 


82  '  '    C     H     E    T   '  ' 

"Want  to  go?"    asked  Dad. 

"You  bet  I  do!"  said  I. 

"All  right,  I  '11  speak  to  Mr.  Carter  as  I  go 
back  to  the  store.     He  's  home,  is  n't  he  ?" 

"Yes,"  I  said,  and  then  I  suddenly  thought  of 
Bess  and  her  "work,"  and  at  the  same  moment 
I  felt  a  flash  of  suspicion. 

"  Dad,"  I  said,  "  did  youknow  Bess  was  going  ?" 

"No,"  said  Dad. 

"Nor  that  Mr.  Carter  was  .?" 

"No.     Why?" 

"  And  you  had  n't  thought  about  me  going, 
until  just  now?" 

"Why,  of  course  not;  but  I  don't  believe  he  '11 
object;  —  he  likes  you."  Dad  got  up  from  the 
table.     "Want  to  come  along?'* 

(in  I " 

Sure! 

Mr.  Carter  was  on  the  veranda  when  we  came 
across  the  lawn.  "  I  hear  you  're  going  to  Chicago 
to-morrow  night,"  said  Dad. 

"Yes,"  said  Mr.  Carter,  "and  I'm  taking  Bess 
along  with  me." 

"Want  another,  for  good  measure  ? "  said  Dad, 
jerking  his  head  toward  me. 

"Good  work!     Well,  I  should  say  I  do!"    Mr. 


c   c 


C    H     E    T   '  '  83 

Carter  came  down  three  steps  and  shook  hands 
with  himself  and  looked  at  me.  "  Bess  will  be 
next  thing  to  alone  there  for  nearly  a  week,  and 
she  and  Chet  can  have  the  time  of  their  lives. 
Of  course  she  '11  be  at  my  sister's;  but  Mary  's 
getting  the  years  into  her  joints  and  does  n't 
go  out  much.  There  '11  be  plenty  of  room  for 
Chet  there,  too,  and  the  youngsters  can  do  the 
town  any  way  they  want  to." 

"All  right,"  said  Dad,  "and  much  obliged. 
Chet,  you  go  and  tell  your  mother.  Tell  her  she 
need  n't  pack  much  for  you;  for  you  can  get  a 
new  suit  in  Chicago,  —  you  need  one  anyway. 
You  can  take  my  suit-case  and  — "  but  I  was  on 
our  veranda  by  that  time,  up  over  the  railing,  — 
and,  gee,  I  'd  been  in  Chicago  for  six  hours  before 
my  head  stopped  whirling! 


CHAPTER  V 

BESS  MEETS  A  NUMBER  OF  THINGS 

T  NEVER  did  see  things  come  so  fast  as  they 
did  for  a  while  there.  Have  you  ever  noticed 
how  unevenly  affairs  run  ?  Sometimes  there  will 
be  a  long,  dull,  smooth  place  in  your  life,  the 
way  that  Summer  had  been  for  me;  and  then, 
beginning  with  the  afternoon  when  I  wakened 
up  in  the  hammock  and  heard  Dad  talking  about 
that  other  girl,  things  had  just  been  humping 
themselves  right  along  until  it  seemed  as  if  the 
incidents  would  tumble  over  one  another  in  their 
hurry  to  get  into  action.  Nothing  more  had  been 
said  on  the  girl  question,  and  I  was  trying  to  keep 
it  out  of  my  mind  as  much  as  possible.  Well,  it 
had  been  only  two  or  three  days  since  then,  and 
here  I  was  in  Chicago,  and  everything  humming! 
Actually,  I  felt  as  if  I  must  be  dozing  in  that  ham- 
mock yet,  and  would  wake  up  pretty  soon  and  go 
out  and  fix  the  latch  on  the  back  gate. 

Bess  and  I  arrived  in  Chicago  all  by  ourselves; 
for  her  father  got  a  message  just  before  he  started, 
that  made  it  necessary  for  him  to  go  to  Cleveland; 

84 


(   ( 


C    H     E    T  '  '  85 


and  so  he  left  us  on  the  way,  and  telegraphed  to  a 
friend  of  his  to  meet  us  at  the  station  and  start 
us  in  the  right  direction  to  get  to  his  sister's.  I 
call  her  "Aunt  Fannie,"  the  same  as  Bess  does. 

That  friend  of  his  certainly  did  know  how  to 
do  things  up  right.  He  was  at  the  train,  sure 
enough,  and  he  had  the  swellest  automobile  you 
ever  saw,  waiting  just  outside  of  the  station,  ready 
to  take  us  over  onto  the  North  Side  and  drop  us 
right  where  we  belonged.  I  tell  you,  it  was  great 
stuff!  You  see,  it  was  the  first  time  I  had  ever 
been  in  an  auto,  and  it  went  to  my  head  some. 
I  liked  it  all  right;  but  I  got  so  tired  that  my  knees 
fairly  knocked  together.  I  sat  on  the  front  seat, 
and  of  course  I  braced  my  feet  and  kept  pulling 
back  all  the  time,  to  keep  from  running  into  things; 
and  a  big  machine  like  that  is  a  mighty  heavy  thing 
to  hold  back  all  by  yourself.  It  was  worst  down  in 
town,  where  the  streets  were  crowded;  but  we 
did  n't  go  so  very  fast  there,  so  that  helped  some; 
—  and  when  we  went  to  cross  the  bridge  and  found 
it  was  turned  to  let  a  boat  go  through,  I  had  to 
just  pull  back  with  all  my  might,  to  keep  from 
going  over  the  edge  and  into  the  river. 

The  chauflFeur  was  nice,  though;    and  by  and 


86  '  '    C     H     E     T   '  ' 

by  he  looked  at  me  and  laughed,  and  said  that 
if  I  'd  lean  back  and  take  it  easy,  he  guessed  that 
he  and  the  brake  could  manage  the  machine  all 
right.  And  then  I  saw  what  a  goose  I  'd  been 
making  of  myself,  —  and  suddenly  remembered 
what  Uncle  Rob  had  said  about  confidence  mak- 
ing one  normal.  So  I  just  relaxed  the  strain 
and  let  him  run  the  machine,  and  by  the  time  that 
we  were  spinning  away  north  with  the  blue  lake 
shining  and  sparkling  at  our  right,  and  the  beauti- 
ful houses  and  lawns  flying  past  at  our  left,  that 
involuntary  tension  was  all  gone,  and  I  was  doing 
nothing  but  enjoy. 

I  am  so  glad  that  the  lake  was  rough  on  that 
first  day  that  I  saw  it;  for  now  I  shall  always 
think  of  it  that  way.  The  sun  was  shining  and 
there  was  a  fresh,  cool  breeze,  and  the  lake  was 
blue,  and  there  were  flashing,  tossing  white-caps 
just  as  far  as  you  could  see;  and  away  out  on  the 
edge  of  the  horizon,  the  line  was  all  rough  and 
uneven  and  wavering.  And  nearer  shore,  the  great, 
smooth  waves  came  rolling  in,  and  as  they  came 
closer,  they  would  rise  up,  and  rise  up,  and  their 
round  tops  would  begin  to  get  sharp  and  thin 
and  then  they  would  begin  to  curl  over  a  little. 


"   C    H     E    T   "  87 

just  a  very  little  at  first,  with  tiny,  white  flecks 
flying,  and  then  all  of  a  sudden  they  would  break 
over,  like  a  great  waterfall,  beginning  in  front  of 
you  and  curling  away  off"  down  the  shore,  as  white 
as  snow.  And  where  the  water  ran  up  on  the  beach 
it  was  exactly  like  the  galloping  white  horses  that 
some  one  painted;  and  I  could  just  see  their  fly- 
ing manes,  and  bending  knees,  and  reaching 
hoofs!  And  where  there  was  no  beach,  only  a 
sea-wall,  the  waves  would  come  rolling  up,  big 
and  round,  and  then,  all  of  a  sudden,  there  would 
be  a  deep,  heavy  boom,  and  the  whole  wave  would 
dash  up  into  the  air  and  the  top  of  it  would  break 
into  feathers  and  plumes  of  white  spray  which 
the  wind  blew  into  our  faces;  and  then  the  whole 
mass  of  it  would  drop  back  onto  the  stonework 
with  another  boom,  and  a  swishing  and  splashing. 
It  surely  was  fine!  And  sometimes  a  wave  would 
strike  the  sea-wall  sidewise  and  go  spinning  away 
down  the  shore,  taking  a  great  white  curl  of  water 
for  ever  and  ever  so  far,  and  ending  with  a  wild 
throwing  up  of  its  arms  and  a  tremendous  leap, 
and  then  come  tumbling  and  crashing  down 
onto  the  stonework.  Of  course,  I  did  n't  see 
all  of  this  in  detail  on  that  first  ride,    we  were 


88  '  '   C    H     E    T  '  ' 

going  too  fast  for  that;  but  I  sort  of  sensed  it  all, 
and  Bess  and  I  took  it  in,  to  the  full,  afterward. 
We  were  tired  and  dirty  and  hungry  when  we 
got  to  Aunt  Fannie's,  but  we  did  n't  realize  it 
until  we  were  in  the  house,  for  there  had  been 
so  much  to  see  that  we  had  forgotten  that  we  were 
made  of  anything  but  eyes.  Aunt  Fannie  is  all 
right.  She  is  just  fine  and  we  did  n't  have  to 
get  acquainted  at  all;  for  we,  someway,  seemed 
to  "belong,"  without  going  to  the  trouble  of  get- 
ing  adjusted.  Some  people  are  that  way,  you 
know,  and  she  is  one  of  them.  Another  uncle 
of  Bess's  was  there,  and  it  was  his  first  trip  to 
Chicago,  too;  because  Aunt  Fannie  has  lived 
there  for  only  about  a  year;  and  he  was  having 
as  fine  a  time  as  we  were,  though  he  was  supposed 
to  be  there  on  business.  He  is  n't  much  like 
Uncle  Rob,  and  yet  he  reminds  me  of  him 
sometimes.  He 's  awfully  decided,  too,  even 
before  he  is  sure  about  things;  but  if  he  has  to 
back  down  afterward,  he  always  does  it  with  a 
grin;  and  never  makes  any  kick  because  he  was 
mistaken,  as  most  people  do.  I  never  before 
saw  a  person  who  could  be  so  absolutely  certain 
about  a  thing  which  was  n't  so,  and  then  be  so 


'  '   C    H    E    T  "  89 

cheerful  about  it  when  he  found  that  he  'd  guessed 
wrong. 

Aunt  Fannie  told  us  not  to  spend  much  time 
primping  for  dinner,  as  she  was  having  it  early 
because  she  knew  we  would  be  hungry;  so  we 
hurried  down,  and  when  the  gong  sounded,  we 
were  not  at  all  slow  about  getting  into  the  dining- 
room. 

The  table  looked  mighty  good  to  me.  It  was 
a  small,  round  one,  and  just  as  dainty  as  could 
be.  Uncle  Fred  took  the  head,  to  serve,  and 
Aunt  Fannie  poured  the  coffee;  Bess  sat  at  the 
right,  and  was  to  look  after  the  salad  and  I  was 
opposite,  with  a  big  dish  of  green  corn  in  front 
of  me,  which  I  was  told  to  engineer. 

Uncle  Fred  sniffed  as  he  raised  the  cover  from 
the  great  platter  in  front  of  him.  "Smells  like 
old  times,"  he  said. 

I  gave  one  look,  and  then  my  eyes  turned 
toward  Bess.  She  was  talking  to  Aunt  Fannie; 
but  I  knew  she  'd  seen,  by  the  way  she  kept  her 
face  turned  away  from  me.  That  platter  was 
plum  full  of  a  great  big  chicken  pot-pie!  Fine, 
plump  dumplings,  tender,  white  chicken,  and  the 
whole  just  fairly  swimming  in  rich,  thick  gravy. 


90  "   C    H     E    T  '  ' 

I  kept  on  looking  at  Bess,  and  she  kept  on  talk- 
ing to  Aunt  Fannie,  but  I  looked  so  hard  that 
finally  she  had  to  turn  her  eyes,  and  when  she 
saw  my  face,  the  corners  of  her  mouth  went  up 
and  she  stopped  in  the  middle  of  a  sentence. 

"What 's  the  matter,  Chet  ?"  she  asked,  coolly. 
"  You  look  as  if  you  had  left  something  at  home, 
and  had  just  thought  of  it." 

I  saw  that  she  was  going  to  make  some  sort  of 
a  bluff,  and  so  I  said  no,  that  I  was  just  won- 
dering what  she  was  going  to  do  when  she  got 
ready  to  eat,  because  she  could  n't  eat  and  talk 
at  the  same  time.     I  had  to  say  something. 

Uncle  Fred  was  getting  things  well  under  way. 
He  had  put  two  big  dumplings  on  her  plate,  and 
now  he  turned  to  her:  —  "Light  or  dark  meat, 
Bess  V   he  asked. 

"Light  meat,  please,"  said  Bess,  cheerfully; 
and  so  he  put  on  a  fine  piece  of  the  breast,  and  then 
a  big  spoonful  of  mashed  potatoes,  and  then  I  saw 
her  last  hope  go  down,  drowned  in  a  great  sous- 
ing of  rich  gravy  over  the  whole  thing! 

I  looked  away.  I  knew  that  I  should  have  to 
either  laugh  or  choke, —  and  I  was  sorry,  too. 
She  certainly  was  up  against  it!     The  table  was 


"  C    H     E    T  "  91 

too  small,  and  we  were  all  sitting  too  close  to- 
gether for  her  to  have  the  least  chance  of  making 
that  great  plateful  look  even  partly  eaten  unless 
it  really  was.  Of  course  I  knew  that  she  'd  a 
lot  rather  make  her  dinner  off  of  bread  and  butter 
and  corn  than  take  a  mouthful  of  the  chicken, — 
but  I  also  knew  that  she  'd  rather  go  to  bed 
for  a  week  than  have  Aunt  Fannie  know  that  the 
dinner  which  she  had  planned  as  just  the  thing 
for  us  hungry  kids,  was  a  dead  failure  as  far  as 
Bess  was  concerned.  I  knew  that  it  was  n't 
notion  with  Bess,  either;  for  I  've  seen  her  when 
she  had  what  she  used  to  call  a  "chicken  sick,** 
that  she  had  got  from  eating  soup  that  had  just 
a  little  chicken  in  it  when  she  did  n't  know  it, 
and  once  when  she  ate  some  fried  chicken  over 
at  our  house  because  I  dared  her  to.  But  that 
was  before  she  took  up  Christian  Science. 

When  everybody  was  served,  and  it  was  time 
to  start  in,  I  looked  at  Bess  again.  She  took  up 
her  knife  and  fork,  put  up  her  head  for  an  instant 
and  looked  me  square  in  the  eye,  and  then  she 
fell  too  and  —  ate  chicken ! 

Gee,  but  that  girl  has  grit! 

She  did  n't   ask  for  a  second  helping,  but   she 


92  "   C    H     E    T   " 

ate  a  good,  hearty  dinner,  and  chatted  away  all 
through  it,  as  if  she  were  having  the  best  time 
ever. 

"Now,"  said  Uncle  Fred,  when  we  had  finished 
everything  else  and  were  still  sitting  around  the 
table  eating  nuts  and  raisins;  "I  have  some  news 
for  you.  I  saved  it  so  as  not  to  interfere  with  your 
appetites.  Day  after  to-morrow  the  whole  bunch 
of  us,  and  some  more,  are  going  over  to  Mich- 
igan City  on  the  boat." 

I  took  one  look  at  Bess  and  then  I  clapped 
both  hands  over  my  mouth. 

"  Did  you  bite  on  a  shell  .^"  asked  Aunt  Fannie, 
sympathetically. 

"I  —  you  —  you  can't  always  tell  when  there's 
shells  in  them,"  I  mumbled.  I  did  n't  dare  to 
take  my  hands  down;  for  the  expression  on  Bess's 
face  had  n't  got  back  to  normal  yet,  and  she 
looked  as  if  she  had  got  beyond  her  depth  and 
there  was  n't  a  straw  in  sight. 

In  just  a  second  I  had  the  corners  of  my  mouth 
under  control.  "Put  down  your  feet  and  walk 
out,  Bess,"  I  said.  "The  water  isn't  really 
deep  —  you  can  touch  bottom  all  right  if  you 
quit  struggling." 


"    C     H     E    T   "  93 

"What's  that?"  asked  Aunt  Fannie,  looking 
from  one  to  the  other  of  us. 

"Oh,"  I  said,  "Bess  has  been  on  the  crest  of 
the  wave  ever  since  she  left  home;  because  so 
many  unexpected  things  have  turned  up,  and  I 
was  afraid  she'd  'turn  turtle'  in  the  breakers, 
at  this  last  piece  of  good  news,  if  I  did  n*t  warn 
her  to  keep  her  feet  on  the  ground." 

"You  need  n't  worry,"  said  Bess,  beginning  to 
look  natural  again;  "I  guess  I  can  keep  my 
equilibrium  all  right  —  and  there 's  something 
better  than  sand  under  my  feet,  too." 

Uncle  Fred  laughed.  "I  guess  Bess  won't  lose 
her  head  and  go  under,  for  joy  over  a  little  trip 
like  that,"  he  said.  And  I  knew  that  Bess  agreed 
with  him  clear  down  to  the  bottom  of  her  heart. 

Later  in  the  evening,  when  Bess  and  I  were 
looking  over  some  unmounted  photographs  of 
Uncle  Fred's,  I  said,  very  low,  —  "  Bess,  how  are 
you  feeling .'"' 

"Fine,"  said  Bess,  looking  square  at  me. 

"Don't  you  feel  sick  at  all .?" 

"Nope." 

"Well,  if  you  're  sick  in  the  night,  what  are  you 
going  to  do  ?" 


94  *  '    C     H     E     T    '  ' 

"Well,  I  'm  not  counting  upon  being  sick  in 
the  night,"  said  Bess,  "  and  you  '11  oblige  me  by 
not  counting  upon  it,  either.  Let 's  talk  about 
the  weather." 

That  was  always  her  way  of  turning  the  con- 
versation. 

"All  right,"  I  said.  "I  hope  we  '11  have  a  fine 
day  to  cross  the  lake!  Chicken  and  the  briny 
deep  in  one  mouthful!  —  I  guess  that's  going 
some,  is  n't  it  ?" 

Bess  put  up  her  chin.  "Chet"  she  said, 
"things  are  coming  my  way.  Those  were  the 
two  highest  stone  walls  that  I  had  before  me  to 
climb,  and  I  was  waiting  to  come  to  them;  —  but 
instead,  they  have  just  walked  right  up  to  me,  and 
said: — 'It's  up  to  you  now,  what  are  you  going 
to  do  about  us?'  All  the  time,  I  have  thought 
that  I  was  going  to  have  to  climb  over  them;  but 
all  of  a  sudden  I  see  that  I  have  only  to  walk 
through  them;  —  for  they  're  not  stone,  they  're 
only  —  only  fog.  I  used  to  think  that  they  were 
protecting  me  from  pain  and  danger;  but  they 
were  really  only  shutting  me  away  from  freedom. 
I  never  realized  it  until  I  got  so  close  to  them, 


'  '    C     H     E     T   "  95 

Don't  you  worry  about  me  —  I'm  coming  through 
all  right." 

"H'm!"  I  said,  "I  thought  you  were  up 
against  it,  and  here  you  are  out  in  the  open,  after 
all.  You  're  all  right,  Bess,  —  you  '11  win,  —  I 
could  n't  carry  it  off  better  myself."  Then 
suddenly  I  happened  to  think.  "Bess,"  I  said, 
"there  's  another  stone  wall  that  you  and  I  are 
coming  up  to  by  and  by,  and  you  want  to  look 
out  that  it  does  n't  fall  on  you." 

"What  one  ?" 

"That  other  girl." 

Bess  wrinkled  her  brows.  "  I  'd  almost  for- 
gotten," she  said;  "and  that  is  the  very  biggest 
one  of  all,  because  it  is  going  to  last  all  the  time. 
Oh,  dear,  I  wish  that  one  would  vanish  into  thin 
air  too." 

"Not  much,  it  won't,"  I  said.  "That's  a 
sure-enough  hurdle,  and  there  's  going  to  be  no 
walking  through  it  or  seeing  freedom  on  the  other 
side.  I  wish  you  'd  make  up  your  mind  what 
you  're  going  to  do  about  it." 

Bess  pressed  her  lips  together.  "I  told  you 
what  I  was  going  to  do  about  it,"  she  said. 


96  '  *    C     H     E     T   " 

"What?" 

"Love  her." 

"Good-night,"  I  said,  and  got  up  to  go  to  my 
room. 

The  next  forenoon  Bess  and  I  started  out  to 
see  the  sights.  She  had  come  down  to  breakfast 
looking  as  fresh  as  could  be;  and  when  I  asked 
her  how  she  felt,  she  said  that  she  did  n't  waken 
up  once  all  night.  I  certainly  was  surprised,  — 
and  yet  I  had  just  about  half  expected  it;  for  she 
was  so  confident  that  I  sort  of  caught  it,  and  would 
have  been  disappointed  if  she  had  been  worsted. 
I  got  into  such  an  odd  state  of  mind  about  her 
affairs,  for  I  kind  of  expected  both  ways,  when 
she  met  one  of  her  stone  walls;  and  if  I  had  been 
talking  to  any  one  about  it,  I  would  have  said :  — 
"It's  exactly  what  I  expected;  —  but  I'm  sur- 
prised, just  the  same,"  and  I  began  taking  about 
as  much  interest  as  if  I  had  beein  in  it  myself. 

Well,  that  day  we  went  to  the  Art  Institute, 
and  some  of  the  stores,  and  wound  up  at  the 
Museum  and  stayed  there  until  the  doors  closed. 
I  think  we  'd  have  stayed  until  morning  if  they  'd 
have  let  us.  I  never  saw  so  many  things  that  were 
downright  interesting,  in  all  my  life  put  together. 


"   C    H     E    T   "  97 

Bess  and  I  had  read  about  so  many  of  the  things, 
that  it  was  just  Hke  meeting  old  friends,  and  I 
tell  you,  we  simply  revelled.  Bess  got  acquainted 
with  some  girls  who  were  in  the  Egyptian  room 
when  we  went  in,  and  they  were  real  jolly.  One 
of  them  was  quite  clever,  and  she  and  Bess  struck 
up  a  friendship  right  off.  The  other  one  was 
pretty,  and  about  fourteen  years  old,  but  she 
was  n't  paying  much  attention  to  things  —  did  n't 
seem  to  know  how. 

By  and  by  we  all  stopped  in  front  of  a  glass 
case  where  there  was  a  mummy,  and  there  was 
a  printed  label  telling  all  about  it.  Bess  read  it 
aloud,  and  when  she  got  through,  the  pretty  girl 
turned  to  the  other  one  and  said,  —  "  What  is 
it,  Grace  ?" 

"  Why,  it 's  a  mummy.  Did  n*t  you  hear  what 
she  read  ?" 

The  rest  of  us  walked  on,  but  the  girl  stood 
still,  looking  into  the  case.  In  a  moment  she 
came  running  after  us.  "Grace,"  she  said, 
"what  did  you  say  that  thing  is .'"' 

"  A  mummy.  An  Egyptian  mummy.  Go 
read  the  label." 

The  girl  went  back  and  bent  over  the  label 


98  "    C    H     E    T   '  ' 

and  then  she  stood,  again,  staring  into  the  glass 
case.  The  cover  of  the  mummy-case  had  been 
removed,  and  one  could  see  the  winding  strips 
of  brown  cloth,  frayed  and  torn  in  places.  She 
stood  for  so  long  that  we  grew  tired  of  waiting, 
and  the  other  girl  called  to  her;  but  she  did  n't 
turn  around.  "  Well,  what  do  you  think  of  that  ? " 
said  her  friend.  "  I  did  n't  suppose  Belle  had 
enough  imagination  to  stand  dreaming  over  a 
mummy-case  in  that  sort  of  a  way!  We  '11  have 
to  go  back  after  her." 

I  knew  that  it  was  n't  imagination;  for  no  girl 
with  a  genuinely  empty  face  ever  spends  any 
time  dreaming;  but  I  did  n't  say  anything,  and 
we  walked  back. 

As  we  came  up  to  her,  she  turned,  and  her  face 
was  all  knotted  up  with  perplexity.  "Grace," 
she  exclaimed,  "What  did  you  say  this  thing  is  .f"' 

Grace  started  to  speak,  and  then  stopped  and 
looked  helplessly  at  Bess  and  me.  "Why,  Belle," 
she  said  at  last,  "we  've  told  you  three  times  that 
it  is  a  mummy  —  an  Egyptian  mummy  —  the 
mummy  of  an  Egyptian  princess!  Can't  you 
understand  that.?" 

Belle    brought    her   hand    down    on   the    case. 


'  '    C    H     E    T   "  99 

with  one  finger  pointed,  so  hard  that  you  *d  have 
thought  it  would  have  gone  clear  through  the 
glass.  "Yes,  yes,  yes!"  she  exclaimed,  pounding 
on  the  glass  with  her  finger;  "of  course  I  under- 
stand that  perfectly;  but  what  I  *m  trying  to  find 
out  is  —  what  on  earth  did  she  use  it  forV* 
Bess  and  I  went  home  then. 


CHAPTER  VI 

OVER   THE    WATER   WITH    TWINNY 

'T^HERE  was  not  a  very  large  party  of  us  to 
go  to  Michigan  City,  —  just  Aunt  Fannie 
and  Uncle  Fred  and  a  Mrs.  Walker,  an  old 
friend  of  theirs  who  used  to  live  in  the  same  town, 
and  had  twin  daughters  about  twelve  years  old, 
—  and  they  went  along.  They  were  mighty  nice 
little  girls,  and  looked  so  much  alike  that  no  one 
ever  tried  to  tell  which  was  Marian  and  which 
Margaret;  but  just  said  "Twinny,"  and  that 
meant  either,  and  either  one  answered.  I  asked 
one  of  them  how  she  knew  whether  a  person  was 
speaking  to. her  or  her  sister,  and  she  said, — 
"Why,  I  don't,  —  but  it  doesn't  make  any  dif- 
ference, does  it .?"  I  said  I  supposed  not;  but 
I  heard  the  other  one  —  I  think  it  must  have  been 
the  other  one  —  say  to  Bess  a  while  afterward,  — 

"Is  n't  it  lovely  to  think  that  you  are  just  your- 
self, and  nobody  else  is  you,  and  you  are  not  any- 
body else  r* 

"Why,  what  do  you  mean  }"  asked  Bess. 

"I  mean,  I  should  think  you  'd  be  so  sort  of 

lOO 


'  *   C    H     E    T   '  '  loi 

proud  to  be  just  yourself,  all  alone,  and  nobody 
like  you,  anywhere.  Now  with  me  it 's  different 
—  there  's  always  two  of  me,  and  that  makes  me 
so  common." 

Bess  laughed  at  first,  and  then  she  looked  a 
little  sober,  when  she  saw  that  Twinny*s  face 
was  really  wistful.  "Why,  childie,"  she  said, 
"could  two  great,  sweet  American  Beauty  roses 
ever  be  common  .?  " 

"No,"  said  Twinny,  her  face  brightening. 

"And  if  they  were  both  just  as  sweet  as  they 
could  possibly  be,  would  n't  it  be  nicer  to  have 
two  than  one  I  '* 

"Yes,"  said  Twinny,  the  smiles  beginning  to 
come. 

"Well,  then,  don*t  you  worry,"  said  Bess,  "  just 
be  sweet." 

It  was  nine  o'clock  when  we  reached  the  dock 
and  the  day  was  warm  and  sunny  and  the  sky 
blue  with  little  fluffy  white  clouds  floating  south- 
ward, and  every  once  in  a  while  a  little  whiff  of 
wind  from  up  the  lake  would  put  a  white  cap  on 
a  blue  wave.  The  boat  was  n't  very  large;  but 
it  was  not  at  all  crowded,  and  so  we  all  went  back 
to  the  stern  and  fixed  our  chairs  so  that  we  could 


I02         '  '   C    H     E    T   '  ' 

watch  the  white  wake  and  the  long,  uneven  Hne 
of  the  city  roofs,  with  its  towering  buildings 
wrapped  in  a  veil  of  smoke  that  thinned  and  died 
away  to  the  north  and  south,  leaving  the  stretch 
of  the  park  and  beautiful  homes  standing  out  in 
the  clear  sunlight.  We  watched  and  chatted, 
and  the  twins  certainly  were  fun.  I  liked  one  of 
them  a  good  deal  the  better,  but  I  could  never 
tell  which  one  it  was;  for  whenever  they  'd  get 
mixed  up,  I  'd  have  to  go  to  talking  to  the  one 
that  came  handiest  until  I  'd  found  out  whether 
she  was  the  one  or  not;  and  then  when  they  'd 
get  up  and  walk  around,  I  'd  get  off  of  the  track 
again.  It  was  interesting,  though,  and  I  got  to 
wagering  my  right  pocket  against  my  left  pocket, 
as  to  whether  I  had  the  interesting  one  or  not, 
until  I  got  all  of  my  loose  change  and  keys  and 
everything  else  over  onto  one  side,  and  Bess 
wanted  to  know  whether  I  was  trying  to  show  off 
my  wealth,  that  I  was  rattling  it  around  so  much; 
—  and  the  side  I  had  'em  on,  was  the  side  where 
I  put  'em  when  I  missed  my  guess.  They  told 
a  lot  of  funny  stories  about  each  other.  Once 
one  of  them  had  to  stay  out  of  school  for  a  while, 
and  when  she  was  ready  to  start  in  again,  she 


(   ( 


C    H    E    T   '  *  103 

could  n*t  find  her  new  shoes;  and  at  last  she 
discovered  that  the  other  had  been  wearing  them 
every  other  day,  so  as  to  keep  'em  even,  so  that  they 
could  keep  on  getting  new  shoes  at  the  same  time. 

And  sometimes  they  had  to  answer  the  doorbell 
when  the  maid  was  away,  and  by  and  by  one  of 
them  found  out  that  when  her  sister  answered  the 
bell,  if  she  had  on  her  good  clothes,  she  said  that 
she  was  herself,  but  if  she  was  the  least  bit  untidy, 
she  said  that  she  was  her  sister;  and  so  the  sister 
got  the  reputation  of  being  always  untidy,  and  the 
other  of  being  always  nice  and  trim. 

Her  sister  got  even  with  her,  though,  by  telling 
all  the  girls  in  school  that  she  was  the  one  that 
she  was  n't,  and  that  she  was  going  to  wear  a 
little  green  bow  on  her  sleeve,  so  that  they  could 
know  her  from  the  other;  and  then  she  wore  her 
oldest  clothes,  and  soiled  her  face  and  hands  and 
missed  her  lessons  and  roughed  her  hair  all  up 
for  a  week,  before  the  other  one  found  out  what 
she  was  doing. 

They  never  got  angry  at  each  other,  though,  — 
they  did  n't  seem  to  know  how  to.  I  think  it 
must  have  been  because  they  felt  so  much  like 
one  person. 


I04  *  *    C     H     E     T    '  ' 

By  and  by  one  of  them  said  to  Bess:  "Mamma 
says  you  are  a  Christian  Scientist.     Are  you  ?" 

"I  'm  trying  to  be  one,"  said  Bess,  carefully. 

"Is  Chester  one?" 

"No." 

"Why  not?" 

"  Because  he  does  n't  understand  it,"  said  Bess. 
I  started  to  say  something  about  that  reply,  and 
then  I  decided  to  think  about  it  a  little  first.  I 
think  now,  that  it  was  a  mighty  good  answer,  — 
a  mighty  good  one. 

"  Then  why  does  n't  he  learn  it,  the  way  we 
learn  lessons  ?" 

Bess  shook  her  head.  "It's  odd,"  she  said. 
"  Folks  are  willing  to  study  all  sorts  of  other  things, 
like  arithmetic,  and  music,  and  how  to  be  doctors 
and  lawyers,  and  house-builders,  —  they  spend 
years  and  years  at  it;  but  they  don't  seem  to 
think  it 's  worth  while  to  study  how  to  do  the  won- 
derful things  that  Jesus  did.  They  seem  to 
think  that  if  it  is  possible  to  do  these  very  greatest 
things  in  the  world,  they  ought  to  be  able  to  do 
them  without  studying  or  practising  at  all,  —  and 
because  they  can't,  they  don't  seem  to  like  it 
because  other  people  do.     I  don't  see  why;   when 


'  '   C    H     E    T   '  '         105 

Jesus  said  that  we  could  do  them  all,  —  and 
'greater  things,' —  and  he  was  the  most  truthful 
person  who  ever  lived." 

Mrs.  Walker  had  had  one  ear  turned  in  our 
direction,  and  just  then  she  leaned  forward. 
"Don't  you  think,  dear,"  she  said,  "that  when 
Jesus  said  'Heal  the  sick,'  he  meant  the  sick  at 
heart?" 

Bess's  eyes  opened  wide.  "Why,  no!"  she 
said,  very  earnestly.  "He  healed  their  bodies  and 
their  hearts,  too,  and  told  us  to  do  just  the  same." 

Mrs.  Walker  looked  at  her  curiously,  and  then 
turned  back  to  Aunt  Fannie.  "It 's  all  Greek  to 
me,"  she  said,  sighing  and  shaking  her  head;  — 
"but  I  wish  that  I  could  understand  it;  for  they 
are  always  such  happy  people." 

"  Let 's  go  out  in  the  bow  and  see  if  the  sand 
dunes  are  in  sight,"  called  one  of  the  twins.  "You 
can  see  them  for  ever  so  far,  and  Chicago  is 
almost  gone  now." 

We  all  raced  forward  and  crowded  up  around 
the  flag-staff;  and  sure  enough,  away  off  in  the 
distance,  there  were  little  dark  streaks  and  patches 
beginning  to  show,  quite  a  way  above  what  looked 
like  the  sky  line." 


io6         *  '    C     H     E    T    '  ' 

"There  they  are!  There  they  are!"  cried  both 
of  the  twins  together. 

"Those  dark  spots  are  the  trees  and  bushes  on 
the  tops  of  the  dunes,"  explained  one  of  the  twins. 
"We  don't  get  out  of  sight  of  land  at  all,  on  a 
clear  day.  When  Chicago  has  dropped  away  from 
behind  us,  we  can  just  begin  to  see  Indiana." 

"Indiana?"  said  Bess.  "Why,  I  thought  it 
was  Michigan  City  that  we  were  going  to!" 

"So  it  is,"  said  Twinny — I  don't  know  which 
one! — "but  Michigan  City  is  in  Indiana.  Did  n't 
you  know  that  .f"' 

"  No.   Then  why  do  they  call  it  Michigan  City  V 

"Well,"  said  Twinny,  "it  used  to  be  in  Mich;:_ 
igan,  so  they  say.  Michigan  used  to  stretch  clear 
around  the  lake  to  Illinois,  and  Indiana  did  n't 
have  any  shore  line  at  all;  and  that  did  n't  seem 
fair,  when  Michigan  has  lake  pretty  nearly  all 
around  her;  and  so  they  made  some  sort  of  a 
bargain  and  let  Indiana  have  that  little  corner. 
Michigan  City  was  on  a  part  of  the  land  that  -^- 
Indiana  took  and  so  she  had  to  change  her  last 
name." 

We  all  laughed.  "Just  like  getting  married," 
said  Bess. 


4     ( 


C     H     E    T  '  '  107 


"Is  that  really  true?"    I  asked. 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Twinny.  "The  captain 
told  me  when  I  was  coming  over  last  year;  —  but 
you  can  never  tell  whether  they  are  stuffing  you 
or  not." 

"Why,  Twinny  Walker!"  exclaimed  the  other 
twin.    "Mamma  does  n't  allow  you  to  use  slang." 

"Well,  what  would  you  say  instead  of 'stuffing,' 
I'd  like  to  know?" 

"Why  —  why — "  the  other  twin  couldn't 
think  of  a  word.  "Well,"  she  said  at  last,  "I 
think  'filling'  is  a  good  deal  nicer  word  —  " 

We  all  laughed  again.  "All  right,"  said  Twin- 
ny, "have  it  any  way  you  choose.  Chester,  the 
captain  was  'filling'  me!" 

The  other  twin  flushed.  "No,"  she  said, 
"  that  does  n't  sound  right,  either.  Bess,  what 
should  it  be  ?" 

"Well,"  said  Bess,  "I  think  it  would  be  nicer 
to  believe  that  he  was  telling  the  truth." 

Twinny  gave  her  a  little  hug.  "  I  have  n't 
heard  you  say  a  thing  that  was  horrid  since  we 
started,"  she  said.  "How  can  you  always  say 
nice  things  about  people  when  you  don't  even 
know  them  ?" 


io8  '  '    C    H     E     T   '  ' 

"  By  thinking  nice  things  instead  of  unpleasant 
ones,"  said  Bess;  "but  I  don't  do  it  nearly  as 
much  as  I  ought  to,  —  I  'm  only  trying  to  get  the 
habit." 

"You  never  catch  me  getting  that  kind  of 
habit,"  I  said.  "I  always  get  the  kind  that  have 
to  be  broken,  smashed  —  until  the  word  'habit' 
always  seems  to  mean  something  bad,  that  I  have 
got  to  get  rid  of,  —  or  ought  to  get  rid  of,  at  least." 

"That's  so,"  said  Twinny,  and  then  the  other 
part  of  her  interrupted. 

"Oh,  see  how  much  bigger  the  waves  are! 
Don't  they  look  pretty  and  white  on  top  ?  And 
look  how  plainly  you  can  see  the  sand  dunes  now." 

"Where's  the  city.?"  asked  Bess.  "I  don't 
see  anything  but  yellow  hills  all  along  the  shore. 
There  is  n't  a  single  break." 

"Oh,  yes  there  is,"  said  Twinny.  "When  we 
get  a  little  nearer  you  will  see  a  wider  space  be- 
tween two  of  the  dunes,  and  that 's  where  the  river 
comes  through,  and  then  you  can  see  some  of 
the  spires  and  buildings.  The  town  is  all  behind 
the  dunes." 

Bess  had  turned  away  from  the  water  and 
was  looking  rather  anxiously  toward  the   stem. 


'  '   C    H    E    T  "  109 

"Hadn't  we  better  go  back  to  Aunt  Fannie?" 
she  asked,  uneasily. 

"Getting  hungry?"  I  asked.  "Well,  it  won't 
do  you  any  good  for  we  are  n't  to  have  luncheon 
until  we  get  onto  the  beach;  so  you  can  just 
make  up  your  mind  to  that,  my  young  lady." 
I  was  hungry  myself,  and  was  sort  of  glad  to 
relieve  my  mind  that  way. 

"No,"  said  Bess,  soberly,  "I  just  thought  that 
maybe  we  would  better  go  back  where  they  are, 
before  it  *s  time  to  land." 

"Oh,  we  won't  be  in  for  nearly  an  hour,"  said 
Twinny. 

Bess  took  a  few  steps.  "  I  think  I  '11  go,  any- 
way," she  said. 

"You're  hungry,  you're  hungry!"  I  called. 
"  You  're  going  to  ask  Aunt  Fanny  for  a  sand- 
wich." 

Bess  turned  on  me  wrathfully;  "I'm  not 
either!"  she  cried  hotly,  "I  'm  not  hungry,  any 
such  thing!  I  never  want  to  see  anything  to  eat 
again  as  long  as  I  live!" 

My  jaw  dropped  and  then  suddenly  I  knew 
what  was  the  matter,  and  I  just  toppled  down  onto 
a  coil  of  rope  and  rolled  over  with  my  head  in 


no  '  '    C     H     E     T   '  ' 

the  middle  of  it,  and  laughed  until  I  ached.  I 
wonder  why  it  is  so  awfully  funny  to  see  some 
other  person  seasick! 

Bess  did  n't  even  try  to  laugh,  —  or,  maybe 
she  did  try  but  it  did  n't  show  any  on  the  sur- 
face, and  as  soon  as  I  could  get  my  breath,  I 
was  sorry  I  had  laughed,  and  I  got  up  and  made 
her  sit  down  on  the  rope.  Then  I  took  Twin- 
ny,  both  of  her,  and  trotted  them  into  the  cabin 
and  told  them  stories,  so  that  Bess  could  have  it 
out  with  herself.  They  wanted  to  send  Aunt 
Fannie  to  her;  but  I  told  them  to  let  her  alone 
and  she  would  be  all  right  when  she  'd  had  time 
to  think  it  over. 

After  a  while  I  took  them  back  to  their  mother, 
and  then  I  went  out  to  the  bow  again,  and  there 
was  Bess,  still  on  the  coil  of  rope,  and  when  I 
bent  over  her,  I  found  that  she  was  sound  asleep, 
—  and  she  did  n't  waken  up  until  we  had  turned 
to  go  into  the  harbor,  and  then  I  went  and 
called  her. 

The  boat  was  still  rolling  a  good  deal,  but  she 
sat  up,  as  fresh  and  chipper  as  could  be. 

"Snoozer!"    I  said. 

"Whoo!"  she  said,  stretching  her  arms;  "why, 


'  *   C    H     E    T  '  '  III 

I  feel  like  Rip  Van  Winkle.  I  never  slept  so  hard 
in  my  life.     Are  we  nearly  there  V 

"Just  going  into  the  river,"  I  said,  "and  it's 
so  crooked  that  the  boat  has  to  tie  knots  in  her- 
self to  get  through." 

Bess  jumped  up.  "  Oh,"  she  cried,  "  there  's  the 
life-saving  station!    See  the  look-out  man  on  top!" 

"That  job  looks  good  to  me,"  I  said.  "Noth- 
ing to  do  but  walk  up  and  down  there  and  watch 
for  wrecks;  and  then,  when  you  see  one  —  Whee- 
ee-ee!"  —  and  I  went  through  all  the  motions 
of  running  out  boats  and  managing  oars  and 
throwing  life-preservers.  I  wanted  to  be  right  in 
the  middle  of  a  big  storm  and  see  what  I  'd  do, 
and  whether  I  'd  keep  my  nerve.  Just  then  we 
bumped  into  the  piling;  for  that  little  river  is  so 
crooked  that  the  boat  had  to  run  her  nose  right 
up  onto  the  bank  and  then  throw  out  a  rope  to 
hold  her  there,  and  swing  around  and  go  up  to 
the  dock  backward.  Gee,  you  ought  to  have  seen 
her  strain  on  that  rope!  They  say  that  a  lot  of 
money  has  been  spent  on  that  harbor;  but  it 's 
the  most  skewgee  one  that  /  ever  saw. 

Bess  and  I  hurried  back  to  where  the  others 
were  gathering  up  wraps  and  lunch-boxes.    Twin- 


112         "   C    H    E    T   '  ' 

ny  had  n't  said  a  word  about  Bess,  except  that 
she  had  gone  to  sleep,  and  so  she  did  n't  get 
teased  at  all. 

As  soon  as  the  landing  was  made,  we  kids 
raced  off  ahead  of  the  others,  up  the  slope  to  the 
street,  across  the  bridge,  through  the  little  park, 
and  away  out  onto  the  hard  sand  of  the  east 
beach. 

And  such  a  beach!  It  was  white  and  smooth 
for  miles  and  miles  —  as  far  as  one  could  see  — 
hard  and  firm  near  the  water,  loose  and  fine 
farther  back;  and  then  piled  up  in  great  soft 
dunes  eighty  or  a  hundred  feet  high,  with  trees 
and  bushes  on  the  tops  of  some  of  them,  and  others 
just  smooth  and  round,  and  you  could  see  the 
heads  of  oaks  and  maples  that  were  growing  on 
the  landward  slope,  away  from  the  wind,  and  only 
peeping  over  the  top.  Hoosier  SHde  is  on  the 
other  side  of  the  river,  and  that  is  a  perfect  moun- 
tain of  sand,  and  almost  straight  up  and  down. 
Twinny  said  that  they  climbed  it  the  Summer 
before,  and  it  was  so  steep  and  so  soft  that  they 
thought  they  never  would  get  to  the  top,  and  it 
was  a  blazing  hot  day,  too;  but  they  would  go 
up,  because  they  wanted  to  see  the   view  from 


"  C     H    E    T  '  '  113 

there;  and  then  when  they  got  up,  at  last  —  here 
Twinny  looked  at  each  other  and  laughed. 

"What  's  the  matter  ?"  I  asked.  "Was  n't  the 
view  worth  it .?" 

"We  don't  know,"  said  Twinny;  "we  never 
looked  to  see.  After  we  'd  gone  and  worn  our- 
selves to  a  frazzle  chmbing  up  through  all  that 
loose  sand,  we  found  that  if  we  had  just  gone 
around  the  base  of  the  hill  a  little  way,  we  could 
have  walked  right  up  an  easy  slope;  and  it  made 
us  so  mad  to  think  of  all  the  bother  we  'd  had, 
that  we  just  turned  around  and  went  right  back 
down  without  even  looking  at  the  view!" 

Bess  and  I  laughed.  "  Is  n't  that  just  the  way  V 
said  Bess.  "We  struggle  and  struggle  to  get 
something;  and  then  we  spend  so  much  time 
thinking  about  how  hard  it  was  to  get,  that  we 
entirely  lose  sight  of  the  thing  itself,  and  don't 
get  any  good  out  of  it." 

"Here's  the  place,"  called  Twinny,  who  had 
run  a  little  way  ahead.  "This  is  where  we  ate 
last  year." 

"Why,  how  can  you  tell  ?"  asked  Bess,  look- 
ing around;  "It's  just  the  same  everywhere  — 
only  smooth  sand." 


114  *  *    C     H     E     T   '  ' 

"How  can  I  tell?  Why,  by  my  footprints, 
of  course,"  said  Twinny,  whirling  around  on  her 
heel  and  making  a  funny,  circular  mound  with  a 
hole  in  the  centre.  "I  always  walk  like  that,  you 
know,  and  then  I  can  always  tell  where  I  've 
been,"  and  she  made  another,  a  little  farther  on. 

I  sat  her  down  on  it.  "  Explain,"  I  said,  hold- 
ing her  there  by  the  shoulders,  and  wondering 
which  one  she  was. 

"Oh,  I  '11  tell  you,  I  '11  tell  you,  only  let  me  get 
up,"  she  cried.  "Do  you  see  that  big  heap  of 
sand  over  there  ?  Well,  that  covers  an  old  row- 
boat  that  was  washed  up  here  on  the  beach  a  long 
time  ago.  When  the  lake  is  rough,  the  drift- 
wood gets  caught  in  a  little  hollow  behind  it;  and 
so,  when  we  want  to  build  a  fire,  it  is  nicer  to 
do  it  here,  where  the  wood  is  handy,  instead  of 
having  to  go  over  the  dunes  for  it.  Now  let  me 
get  up,  Chester;  —  we  've  got  to  hurry  and  get  the 
wood,  for  I  'm  starving!" 

"All   right,"   said   I.      "You   hungry,    Bess.?" 

"I  surely  am,"  said  Bess.  "What  are  we  going 
to  cook  .?" 

"Just  eggs,  and  toast  some  marsh-mallows;  we 
brought    two    boxes    of  them.      Chester,    you  *11 


'  '   C    H    E    T   '  '  115 

have  to  whittle  some  skewers.  Twinny  was  going 
to;  but  when  we  found  there  was  going  to  be  a 
boy  along,  we  thought  we  would  give  him  the  job.'' 

We  gathered  the  wood  and  then,  while  Aunt 
Fannie  and  Mrs.  Walker  were  getting  things  in 
shape,  we  sat  down  on  the  sand-covered  boat  and 
I  whittled  skewers, 

"I  never  in  my  life  saw  anything  so  beautiful 
as  that  lake,"  said  Bess,  leaning  back  in  the  soft 
sand.  "  Is  n't  it  the  bluest  blue  and  the  whitest 
white  that  you  ever  saw  ?  Just  look,  where  it 
dashes  up  against  the  breakwater!" 

I  looked.  "Gee,  those  are  big  waves!"  I 
said.  "They're  getting  bigger  all  the  time.  It 
looks  just  like  a  storm,  only  the  sun  is  shining  so 
brightly,  and  the  only  clouds  are  those  little  soft, 
white  ones.  I  '11  bet  she  '11  be  rough  going 
back!" 

"No,  it  won't,"  said  Twinny.  "The  captain 
told  Mamma  that  we  would  be  going  toward  the 
wind  and  the  boat  would  n't  roll  nearly  so  much. 
Don't  you  mind  what  he  says,  Bess." 

Bess  laughed.  "I  don't  mind,"  she  said,  "I  'm 
not  afraid,  and  I  have  n't  any  idea  of  being  sick, 
no  matter  how  rough  it  is." 


ii6  "   C    H     E     T   '  ' 

Twinny  looked  at  her.  "How  did  you  do  it  ?" 
she  asked,  wonderingly. 

"  Just  by  understanding  why  I  need  n't  be  sick," 
said  Bess. 

"  But  when  the  way  you  feel  keeps  telling  you 
something  different,  how  can  you  ?" 

"Well,"  said  Bess,  "supposing  you  were  doing 
an  example  in  arithmetic,  and  some  one  kept 
whispering  in  your  ear:  —  'Five  and  five  are 
eleven,  five  and  five  are  eleven,'  you  'd  know  it 
was  n't  true;  and  though  it  might  bother  and  con- 
fuse you  some,  it  would  n't  make  you  miss  your 
example,  would  it,  unless  you  stopped  and  lis- 
tened to  it  and  let  it  mix  you  up  ?" 

Twinny  thought  a  minute.  "No,"  she  said 
at  last;  "not  if  I  kept  on  'tending  to  business." 
And  then;  —  "  But  what  do  you  do  when  you  see 
sickness  and  such  things .?  I  always  have  to 
believe  what  I  see,  and  what  other  people  around 
me  see  and  believe."  . 

Bess  took  one  of  the  skewers  and  wrote  on  the 
smooth  sand:    "5  +  5  =  H-" 

"There,"  she  said,  "Can  you  see  that.?" 

"Yes." 

"Well,  do  you  believe  it.?" 


'  '  C    H     E    T  "  117 

"No,  of  course  I  don't." 

"Now  suppose  a  lot  of  people  should  come 
along  and  see  it  and  say: — *Yes,  that's  true, 
five  and  five  are  eleven,'  what  would  you  think 
then?" 

Twinny  studied  again.  "Well,"  she  said,  "I 
suppose  I  'd  be  sort  of  worried  at  first;  and  then 
I  'd  see  that  I  'd  got  to  prove  it,  and  I  'd  hold  up 
my  fingers  and  count,  just  like  a  little  young  one, 
one,  two,  three,  four,  five,  six,  seven,  eight,  nine, 
ten;  —  and  then  I'd  know  I  was  n't  mistaken,  and 
it  would  n't  make  any  difference  what  any  one 
said." 

"  And  the  figures  you  could  see  would  n't 
make  any  difference?"  and  Bess  pointed  to  the 
"5  +  5  =  11,"  printed  on  the  sand. 

Twinny  whipped  a  little  switch  across  them, 
blotting  them  out.  "They  would  n't  matter  that 
to  me,"  she  said;    "because  I 'd  know  better!" 

"Then,  do  you  see  what  I  mean  about  under- 
standing the  truth  about  a  thing?" 

"Yes,"  said  Twinny.  "Then  of  course  the 
first  thing  is  to  find  out  what  the  truth  is.  Is 
that  it?" 

"Yes,"  said   Bess,    "first   find    out   what  the 


ii8  ''    C     H     E    T   '  ' 

truth    is    and    why,  —  and    then    prove    it    every 
chance  you  get." 

"And  do  you  have  to  study  very  hard  ?" 
"You  have  to  study  some  —  and  think,  more. 
It  is  n't  yours  until  you  've  thought  it  out,  no 
matter  how  much  you  read  and  commit  to  memory. 
You  don't  know  a  thing  simply  because  some  one 
has  told  it  to  you,  —  you  know  it  because  you  've 
thought  about  it,  and  understand  it,  and  proved 
it.  If  you  knew  'five  and  five  are  ten,'  only  be- 
cause some  one  had  told  you,  then,  when  some  one 
else  said  differently,  you  'd  think  that  you  might 
be  mistaken,  and  you  'd  get  muddled  and  worried, 
and  maybe  miss  your  example;  —  but  when  you 
can  count,  and  understand,  then  you  know  exactly 
where  you  are,  and  nothing  can  budge  you." 

Twinny  looked  at  her,  with  her  eyes  big.  "It 
must  have  been  very  wonderful  for  the  person 
who  found  out  the  truth,  "  she  said,  softly.  "  Just 
think  of  finding  out  a  marvellous  thing  like  that, 
and  then  proving  it,  and  then  telling  people,  and 
telling  them  how  to  prove  it  for  themselves,  — 
and  seeing  them  get  better  and  happier  because 
of  it,  —  and  —  and  —  oh,  would  n't  it  be  just 
glorious ! " 


'  ^   C     H     E     T   '  '  119 

"Yes,"  said  Bess,  soberly,  "it  must  be  glorious! 
All  of  the  work,  and  the  study  and  the  pain,  must 
be  swallowed  up  in  the  glory  of  it!" 

Twinny  sat  with  her  chin  in  the  hollow  of  her 
hand.  "And  to  think,"  she  went  on,  "of  the 
thousands  and  thousands  of  people  who  are  think- 
ing 'thank  you'  all  the  time,  —  thinking  it  with 
their  whole  hearts,  not  just  saying  it,  —  because 
they  've  learned  how  to  be  good  and  happy  and 
well!" 

Bess  looked  at  her  in  surprise.  "  I  did  n't 
know  that  you  knew  so  much  about  it,"  she  said. 

"I  don't  know  much,"  said  Twinny,  shaking 
her  head;  "but  I  'm  going  to  know  more.  I  *ve 
been  watching  the  Christian  Scientists  that  I  *ve 
met,  and  asking  questions,  until  I  'm  satisfied 
with  the  outside  and  —  " 

"And  now  you're  going  after  the  inside,  are 
you .?"   I  asked. 

;  "I  am,"  said  Twinny,  very  earnestly,  and  then 
she  laughed.  "There's  two  of  me  to  manage, 
though,"  she  said,  "and there's  likely  to  be  some 
squabbles." — — 

"Ho,"  said  Bess,  "there  's  two  of  all  of  us  when 
we  begin,  and  we  squabble  dreadfully;  —  but  the 


I20  '  '   C    H     E    T  '  ' 

'best  man'  always  wins.  You've  got  an  extra 
one  on  your  side,  and  so  you  ought  to  make 
double-quick  time." 

Just  then  Aunt  Fannie  called  to  us  that  lunch- 
eon was  ready,  and  we  made  a  wild  rush  for 
the  spread. 

After  we  'd  toasted  and  eaten  the  last  marsh- 
mallow,  I  dared  the  girls  to  climb  to  the  top  of  the 
nearest  sand  dune.  It  was  desperately  steep,  but 
it  looked  easy  because  the  sand  was  so  soft  and 
fine;  but,  gee!  that  was  just  what  made  it  hard, 
and  we  had  to  set  out  feet  sidewise  to  get  any 
foothold  at  all;  and  sometimes  we  'd  go  in  almost 
to  our  knees. 

"  Oh,  dear,"  cried  Twinny,  "  I  *ve  got  a  peck 
of  sand  in  each  shoe  and  I  can't  feel  my  feet  at 
all  —  and  they  're  so  heavy  I  can  scarcely  lift 
them.     Chester,  give  me  your  hand." 

So  I  went  back  and  yanked  them  to  the  top, 
one  at  a  time,  and  the  only  way  I  could  do  it,  was 
by  making  them  run  a  few  steps  and  then  drop 
in  the  sand,  so  as  not  to  slide  back,  and  then  get 
up  and  run  again.  At  last  we  were  up,  and  stood 
there  in  the  big  wind,  with  the  girls'  hair  and  dresses 


(   ( 


C    H     E    T  "  121 


flapping  wildly,  and  the  gulls  swooping  all  about 
our  heads. 

"Oh,  isn't  it  splendid!"  cried  Bess,  waving 
her  arms.  "I  always  feel  like  singing  and  shout- 
ing when  I  'm  out  in  the  wind.  I  could  almost 
fly!  Is  n't  the  lake  perfectly  grand  ?  I  never 
saw  such  great  waves." 

"Whoop!"  I  shouted,  "Let's  go  down  and 
wade!  It  '11  be  dandy  fun.  Come  on.  I  'm 
going  to  see  how  far  I  can  jump." 

"  Don't,  Chester,"  called  Twinny,  "  It 's  too 
steep!"  but  I  had  already  given  a  flying  leap  and 
landed  ever  so  far  below,  in  the  soft,  loose  sand. 

"Come  on,"  cried  Bess,  "I  'm  not  afraid,"  and 
the  three  of  them  came  hopping  and  fluttering 
down  the  hill,  for  all  the  world  like  big  grass- 
hoppers. 

I  was  about  thirty  feet  from  the  bottom,  when 
I  suddenly  had  an  idea.  "I  'm  going  to  turn  a 
somersault,"  and  I  bent  over,  with  my  head  down 
the  hill.  "Here  goes,"  I  called,  and  keeled  over. 
I  did  the  somersault;  but  I  did  n't  stop  there  — 
I  kept  right  on!  The  turn  was  so  quick  that  I 
did  n't  have  time  to  straighten  out,  and  another 


122  *  '   C    H     E    T  '  * 

somersault  followed,  and  then  another  faster  one, 
—  and  then  another  — 

"Chester,  Chester,"  shouted  the  girls,  "Stop, 
stop!"  but  they  might  just  as  well  have  shouted 
'stop*  to  a  rubber  ball;  for  I  was  gathering  mo- 
mentum with  every  turn,  and  careening  down  that 
steep  incline,  all  rolled  up  like  a  caterpillar,  and 
enveloped  in  a  cloud  of  sand  and  dust. 

Exactly  how  many  somersaults  I  turned,  I  '11 
never  know;  but  it  seemed  as  if  the  revolutions 
were  at  the  rate  of  about  five  thousand  to  the 
second,  and  that  I  kept  on  going  for  a  year  or  two. 

When  I  reached  the  foot  of  the  hill  and  a  few 
rods  more,  I  just  unfolded  and  lay  still.  I  did  n't 
unfold  myself,  I  just  came  unfolded,  and  I  lay 
still  because  nothing  else  would,  and  I  did  n't 
seem  to  have  energy  enough  to  get  up  and  try  to 
stand  on  a  beach  that  was  walking  off  on  its 
lower  edge  and  swinging  around  to  hit  at  me  every 
once  in  a  while. 

The  girls  came  chasing  down  the  hill  in  reck- 
less leaps,  and  by  the  time  they  reached  me  I  had 
managed  to  sit  up  and  was  holding  my  head  with 
both  hands. 

"Oh,  Chester,"  cried  Twinny,  "what  did  you 


I    had  managed  to  sit  up  and  was  holding  my   head 
in  both  hands" 


*  *   C    H    E    T   "         123 

keep  on  turning  for?  You  frightened  us  dread- 
fully." 

I  blinked  and  tried  to  brush  the  sand  out  of 
my  hair.  "Wha  —  what  did  I  keep  on  turning 
for?"  I  said.  "Well,  what  do  you  s'pose  ?  Do 
you  think  I  was  playing  foot-ball  with  myself 
like  that,  on  purpose  ?" 

"Could  n't  you  stop  ?"    asked  Bess. 

"Stop  nothing!  Could  you  stop  if  you  were  a 
full-grown  comet,  or  an  avalanche,  or  any  of 
those  things  ? " 

"But  why  did  n't  you  straighten  out  ?" 

"  Straighten  out  ?  How  much  time  did  I  have 
to  straighten  out  ?  You  did  n't  notice  me  stop- 
ping at  any  way-stations,  did  you  ?  Besides,  how 
could  I  tell  when  I  was  right  side  up  ?  S'pose 
I  'd  straightened  out  at  the  wrong  time  — I  'd 
have  come  standing  on  my  head  —  and  then  where 
would  I  have  landed  ?  Gee,  but  things  are  spin- 
ning!" 

Just  then  Aunt  Fannie  came  up,  a  good  deal 
out  of  breath.  "Chester,"  she  said,  "don't  you 
do  that  again." 

My  jaw  dropped.  "Don't  do  it  again!  Well, 
say,  Aunt  Fannie,  if  you  can  make  me  do  it  again, 


124  '  '   C     H     E     T    '  ' 

you  *re  a  bigger  woman  than  I  take  you  for"; 
and  I  squared  ofF  and  looked  fierce.  "  I  '11  have 
you  all  know  that  I  'm  no  educated  caterpillar, 
and  you  don't  get  any  more  free  performances  out 
of  me.  Come  on,  I  'm  going  wading,  and  if  you 
girls  see  me  duck  my  head  again  to-day,  for 
goodness'  sake,  grab  me;  for  I  don't  want  to  get 
started  on  any  more  trips  like  that." 

We  had  a  lot  of  fun  in  the  water,  and  then  wound 
up  with  a  game  of  tag  on  the  beach;  and  just  as 
we  were  going  to  get  on  our  shoes  and  stockings, 
Twinny  came  out  from  the  hollow  where  the 
drift-wood  was,  with  a  big  tumble-weed,  left  over 
from  last  year.  It  was  a  great  globe  of  stiff  stems 
and  twigs,  as  light  as  a  sponge  and  nearly  as  large 
as  a  bushel  basket.  I  'd  never  seen  one  before, 
and  I  took  it  to  examine  it,  when  suddenly  a 
gust  of  wind  snatched  it  out  of  my  hand  and  tossed 
it  away  up  in  the  air,  like  a  balloon;  and  when 
it  came  down  it  did  n't  lie  still,  but  started  off 
down  the  beach  at  a  perfectly  astonishing  gait. 
I  saw  right  off  why  they  called  it  a  "tumble-weed." 

We  started  after  it,  but  we  might  as  well  have 
chased  a  running  horse,  for  we  were  n't  in  it  at 
all.     The  thing  hurtled  along  the  smooth  sand, 


t   i 


C    H     E    T  "  125 


every  once  in  a  while  taking  great  leaps  and 
bounds,  exactly  like  a  giant  foot-ball  being  kicked 
by  invisible  players.  It  made  diagonally  across 
the  beach,  and  straight  for  the  foot  of  one  of  the 
largest  sand  dunes.  We  chased  along,  thinking 
we  'd  get  it  at  the  foot  of  the  hill;  but  not  on  your 
life!  —  it  wasn't  stopping  there.  It  just  kept 
right  on  up  the  smooth,  steep  side  of  that  hill, 
driven  by  the  wind,  and  looking  like  nothing  but 
a  blurred,  whirling  mass  of  gray. 

"Oh,  Chester,  Chester,"  shrieked  Twinny, 
jumping  up  and  down,  "do  see,  that 's  just  exactly 
the  way  you  looked,  only  you  were  coming  down 
instead  of  going  up!  Oh,  I  wonder  if  it  wants 
to  stop!" 

"Well,  it  sure  won't  do  it  any  good  to  want 
to,"  I  said;  "any  more  than  it  did  me.  There, 
it's  almost  at  the  top.  Whoo!  did  you  see  her 
jump  ?"  for  when  the  gray  ball  reached  the  top 
of  the  dune,  it  gave  a  wild  leap  into  the  air,  over 
the  summit,  and  then  down,  out  of  sight  on  the 
other  side. 

"Let 's  get  some  more,"  I  said,  "and  race  'em. 
That  one  went  at  least  a  quarter  of  a  mile.  The 
wind  is  in  exactly  the  right  direction  to  give  'em 


126         "   C    H     E    T   '  ' 

a  long  stretch,  and  then  take  'em  over  the  hill. 
The  one  that 's  over  the  hill  first,  w^ins." 

We  found  four  more;  but  Tw^inny  vt^ould  n't 
take  but  one.  They  said  they  would  n't  race 
against  each  other,  but  would  both  have  a  hand 
in  starting  their  one.  I  thought  it  was  rather  a 
nice  idea.  We  had  fun  naming  them.  I  called 
mine  "Hoosier  Boy,"  and  Twinny's  was  "Ske- 
daddle," and  Bess  called  hers  "Get  There." 

We  all  stood  in  a  row  and  held  the  bushes  high 
above  our  heads.  Bess's  had  a  piece  of  the  stem, 
about  four  inches  long,  still  on  it,  and  I  ofi^ered 
to  cut  it  off;  but  she  said  to  leave  it,  because  it 
was  so  easy  to  hold  it  by  while  we  waited  for  the 
right  sort  of  a  breeze.  Pretty  soon  the  breeze 
came,  and  I  counted  three,  and  Twinny  screamed 
"They  're  off!"  and  away  they  went,  high  in  the 
air,  and  then  spinning  along  over  the  sand  before 
the  wind. 

But  no  sooner  had  Get  There  struck  the  ground, 
than  I  let  out  a  yell.  "Oh,  look  at  him  —  look 
at  old  Hop-and-go-fetch-it ! "  I  shouted,  "Look 
at  him,  look  at  him!"  for  the  stem  had  proved  his 
downfall,  and  instead  of  spinning  along  like  the 
others,  the  sharp  end  of  it  would  strike  the  ground 


"   C    H     E    T   '  '         127 

at  every  turn,  and  the  clumsy  ball  would  rise  upon 
it,  make  a  funny  leap  into  the  air,  and  then  roll 
over  and  come  up  again;  giving  it  the  most  ridic- 
ulous, limping  gait  that  you  ever  saw,  and  leav- 
ing him  ever  so  far  behind  the  others. 

"He's  gone  lame,  —  he's  gone  lame!"  I 
shouted.     "He  's  got  the  string-halt!" 

Bess  laughed  and  cheered  with  the  rest  of  us. 
"Oh,  isn't  he  funny?"  she  cried.  "Look  at 
him  jump!  But,  oh,  see  Skedaddle,  he  's  ahead 
of  Hoosier  Boy!  Chet,  they're  going  to  beat 
you!" 

Hop-and-go-fetch-it,  as  I  had  christened  Bess's 
racer,  was  a  dozen  feet  behind  the  other  two;  and 
those  two  started  up  the  hill  almost  side  by  side. 
Half  way  up  they  were  neck  and  neck,  and  we 
were  holding  our  breath  with  excitement,  when 
suddenly,  something  happened — the  lame  fellow 
in  the  rear  had  reached  the  foot  of  the  hill,  and  in 
one  of  his  upward  wabbles,  a  great  gust  of  wind 
caught  him,  and  he  came  racing  wildly  up  the 
dune,  in  a  series  of  perfectly  tremendous  leaps 
and  bounds,  scarcely  seeming  to  touch  the  ground 
at  all. 

"Oh,  dear,  oh,  dear!"   cried  Twinny,  jumping 


128         "    C    H     E    T  '  ' 

up  and  down,  as  usual,  "  Hurry,  Skedaddle,  oh, 
do  hurry  up!" 

But  it  did  n't  do  any  good,  for  Skedaddle  and 
the  Hoosier  were  spinning  along  at  the  same  old 
gait,  neck  and  neck,  and  Hop-and-go-fetch-it  was 
gaining  on  them  at  every  jump;  —  still,  they  were 
pretty  close  to  the  top,  and  might  make  it,  yet. 
Just  as  they  were  almost  at  the  brow  of  the  hill, 
still  close  together,  and  the  lame  one  about  five 
feet  behind,  —  Whoosh  —  there  came  a  sudden 
gust  of  wind,  and  he  rose  high  in  the  air,  over  the 
heads  of  the  other  two,  gave  a  comical  twist  as 
if  kicking  up  his  heels,  as  he  cleared  the  summit, 
and  disappeared  upon  the  other  side,  just  as  the 
others  reached  the  top. 

I  jumped  up  and  down  with  the  others,  and 
cheered.  "Hurrah  for  old  Hop-and-go-fetch-it! 
He  won  by  three  lengths,  and  he  had  only  one 
leg,  and  was  lame  in  that!  The  Hoosier  and  Ske- 
daddle were  n*t  a  circumstance  to  him.     Whoop!" 

"Well,"  said  Twinny,  "I'm  glad  he  won; 
because  he  had  such  a  handicap,  and  it  was  fine 
for  him  to  come  out  ahead  in  spite  of  it.  Come 
on,  Chester,  we  tied  for  second  place,  we  ought 
to  try  again." 


'  *   C    H    E    T   "         129 

I  was  willing  enough;  but  just  then  Aunt 
Fannie  called  that  it  was  time  for  us  to  put  on 
our  shoes  and  get  ready  for  the  boat,  which  was 
to  start  at  four  o'clock;  and  so  we  had  to  let 
it  go. 

As  we  walked  to  the  boat,  we  met  Uncle  Fred 
coming  back  from  town  with  some  paper  bags 
that  made  us  forget  that  we  had  ever  seen  a  sand- 
wich or  a  marsh-mallow.  We  did  n't  know  what 
was  in  'em,  but  they  looked  as  if  the  trip  home 
were  going  to  have  "some  rather  pleasant  ele- 
ments," as  Bess  said,  very  primly. 

It  did! 


CHAPTER  VII 

LAKE  MICHIGAN  ENTERTAINS 

\X7'E  went  aboard  the  boat  early,  so  as  to  get 
good  seats,  and  we  fixed  up  a  cozy  little 
comer  in  the  stern,  all  by  ourselves.  Some  of 
us  had  camp  chairs  and  some,  big  splint-bottomed 
chairs  with  arms;  and  as  soon  as  we  were  settled, 
Uncle  Fred  opened  the  paper  bags,  and  there 
were  oranges  and  bananas  and  some  great  big 
dark  red  plums  which  were  red  all  the  way  through 
to  the  seed,  —  the  first  ones  like  that  that  I  had 
ever  seen,  —  and  they  certainly  were  fine. 

We  had  made  a  pretty  good  start  on  the  fruit 
when  the  boat  moved  out  into  the  river.  "Well, 
for  goodness'  sake!"  said  Twinny,  "Look  at  the 
crowd  down  there  by  the  life-saving  station!  Do 
you  suppose  they  all  came  down  just  to  see  the 
boat  go  out .?  You  'd  think  they  never  saw  a 
steam-boat  before!" 

"They  're  a  jolly  looking  crowd,  are  n't  they .?" 
I  said.  "They  look  as  if  they  were  having  a  lot 
of  fun  about  something,  —  wish  I  was  in  the 
joke." 

130 


(   ( 


C    H     E    T  "  131 

"See,  we're  almost  out  of  the  river!"  cried 
Twinny,  hanging  over  the  rail.  "  Is  n't  the  lake 
lovely  and  foamy  ?  Oh,  we  're  beginning  to  rock 
some !     Is  n't  it  fine  ?     I  don't  mind  it  a  bit." 

"Look  at  the  people  at  the  life-saving  station," 
called  Bess.  "See,  they're  all  waving  to  us. 
Let 's  wave  back.  What  are  they  all  cheering  and 
laughing  for  ?     I  wonder  —  " 

But  we  never  did  find  out  what  Bess  wondered; 
for,  all  of  a  sudden,  the  forward  end  of  the  boat 
seemed  to  rise  straight  up  into  the  air,  —  and  then, 
as  suddenly,  to  drop  to  such  a  depth  that  the 
whole  bunch  of  us,  being  absolutely  unprepared 
for  it,  just  simply  took  a  "slide  for  life"  clear 
across  that  deck,  rolling  and  tumbling,  chairs, 
boxes,  and  everything  else,  and  never  stopped  until 
we  brought  up  in  a  pile,  close  up  against  the  cabin- 
door.  There  were  about  twenty  others  mixed 
up  with  us,  and  you  never  saw  such  a  promiscuous 
bundle  of  people  and  things  in  all  your  life. 

For  a  moment  there  was  n't  a  sound,  —  every 
one  was  too  astonished  to  open  his  mouth,  — 
and  then  as  the  boat  rose  to  meet  another  swell 
there  came  a  regular  Bedlam  of  cries  and  laugh- 
ter and  exclamations,  and  a  wild  scramble  to  get 


132         '  *   C    H     E    T   '  ' 

out  of  the  tangle.  Uncle  Fred  had  made  a  des- 
perate grab  at  Bess  when  the  lurch  came,  and  there 
he  was  with  his  head  under  a  chair  and  one  hand 
ahold  of  her  foot  and  the  other  clutching  one  of 
her  long,  brown  braids.  I  had  gripped  the  chair 
that  one  of  the  twins  was  in,  and  while  we  were 
doing  stunts  across  that  deck,  I  was  conscious 
of  wondering  which  one  it  was;  and  when  I 
found  that  I  had  the  empty  chair,  my  first  thought 
was  to  wonder  which  one  I  had  lost.  Positively, 
if  I  had  to  be  in  company  with  those  girls  for  long, 
I  'd  get  loony  for  keeps,  just  from  trying  to  find 
out  which  was  who! 

I  was  on  my  feet  first.  "Aunt  Fannie,  are  you 
hurt .?"  I  gasped,  trying  to  unwrap  one  of  Twin- 
ny's  red  sweaters  from  her  head. 

"No,"  she  panted,  grabbing  wildly  to  save  her 
hairpins  and  puffs.  "No,  we  were  sitting  on 
camp-chairs,  and  they  just  shut  up,  and  Mrs. 
Walker  and  I  coasted  down  the  deck  on  them  until 
we  ran  into  the  crowd.  That  sweater  was  on  the 
back  of  my  chair,  though,  —  how  on  earth  did 
it  get  over  my  head.?"  and  she  looked  around 
with  suspicion  in  her  eye. 

Everybody  was  scrambling  up  and  feeling  of 


"   C    H    E    T   "         133 

arms  and  shoulders  and  knees;  but  no  one  had 
anything  more  to  grumble  over  than  a  few  bruises 
or  skinned  places.  Twinny  came  in  for  a  lot  of 
sympathy  at  first;  for  she,  both  of  her,  had  been 
eating  some  of  those  red  plums,  and  she  *d  held 
on  to  them  all  through  the  fracas,  and  they  *d 
smashed  and  decorated  her  and  her  clothes,  until 
they  looked  as  if  they  had  had  about  six  nose- 
bleeds apiece,  all  at  the  same  time. 

Uncle  Fred  tipped  the  chair  off  of  his  head 
"Well,  Bess,"  he  said,  "I  was  going  to  have  a 
lock  of  your  hair  and  a  little  shoe  to  remember 
you  by,  anyway." 

And  just  then  the  captain  appeared  in  the 
door-way  of  the  cabin,  a  broad  grin  on  his  face. 
"There  's  no  danger,"  he  said,  laughing.  "There 
won't  be  any  more  like  that.  We  got  a  big  sea 
when  she  turned,  coming  out  of  the  harbor;  but 
there  won't  be  any  more  bother.  She  's  headed 
for  home  now,  and  is  taking  the  waves  finely." 

Every  one  heaved  a  sigh  of  relief;  and  then  all 
of  a  sudden  Twinny  set  up  a  shout.  "Look  at 
Chester,  look  at  Chester!"  —  and  every  one  did, 
and  then  every  one  proceeded  to  laugh. 

I  did  n't  know  what  on  earth  was  the  matter, 


134         '  *    C    H     E    T   '  ' 

and  began  feeling  of  my  face  and  head.  Then  I 
saw  that  every  one  was  looking  at  my  feet,  and 
I  looked  down,  and  there  was  my  straw  hat,  the 
rim  of  it,  encircling  my  leg,  half  way  to  the  knee. 
There  was  nothing  left  of  the  crown  but  a  fringe 
of  straw!  I  held  up  my  foot  and  stared  at  it. 
"Gee,"  I  said,  "how  did  I  do  it  ."^  I  must  have 
got  to  turning  somersaults  again.  Now,  do  you 
s'pose  it  went  down  over  my  head,  or  up  over 
my  foot .'"' 

I  kicked  the  thing  off,  and  then  went  into  the 
cabin  for  more  chairs,  and  we  formed  a  chain  and 
passed  them  up  to  the  stern,  where  we  were  sit- 
ting before,  for  the  boat  was  rolling  too  much  for 
us  to  try  to  carry  anything,  and  then  we  sat  down 
and  held  onto  the  rail,  to  keep  from  going  skating, 
chairs  and  all,  across  the  deck.  The  fruit  had 
all  gone  overboard  or  been  crushed  to  marma- 
lade. 

"And  those  plums  were  so  awfully  good,"  sighed 
Twinny,  looking  at  her  stained  hands  and  dress. 

"Let 's  have  the  rest  of  the  sandwiches,"  I  said. 
"Excitement  is  a  great  thing  for  the  appetite! 
Where  are  they,  Aunt  Fannie  .''" 

Aunt  Fannie  did  n't  say  a  word;  but  she  pointed 


*  '   C    H     E    T   '  '         135 

to  something  on  the  deck,  a  little  way  beyond  us. 
Every  one  else  had  got  up  after  the  scrabble,  and 
taken  chairs  where  they  could  hold  on  to  some- 
thing; but  there,  on  the  floor,  sat  a  fat,  middle- 
aged  man  with  a  heavy,  fleshy  face  and  small, 
gray  eyes.  He  sat  flat  upon  the  deck  with  his 
feet  straight  out  before  him  and  his  hands  rest- 
ing, palm  downward,  on  each  side  of  him,  to 
steady  himself  from  the  rolling  of  the  boat.  He 
sat  perfectly  still,  as  if  glued  to  the  deck,  his  face 
chalky  white,  his  lower  lip  hanging  loose  and  his 
eyes  staring  straight  before  him.  He  was  the 
perfect  picture  of  fright,  and  did  n't  seem  to  be 
conscious  of  anything  but  the  terror  that  had  hold 
of  him. 

"Why,  the  man's  fairly  paralyzed  with  fear," 
said  Uncle  Fred. 

"How  foolish!"  I  said.  "He's  in  no  more 
danger  than  the  rest  of  us.  Could  n't  he  take 
the  captain's  word  for  it.?"  And  just  then  I 
saw  why  Aunt  Fannie  had  pointed  at  him,  and 
I  gave  a  groan;  for  that  abominable  heavy  gentle- 
man was  sitting  squarely  upon  our  lunch-box! 
I  could  recognize  it  by  the  blue  pasteboard  and 
a    couple    of    cream-puffs    which     had    escaped 


136         *  *    C    H     E    T   '  ' 

from  it,  —  Aunt  Fannie  had  saved  those  for 
supper! 

The  girls  had  n't  discovered  it  yet,  so  I  leaned 
over  to  them.  "Bess,"  I  said,  "M^ill  you  do  me 
a  favor?" 

"Sure,"  said  Bess. 

"Well,  go  and  ask  the  gentleman  to  kindly  take 
this  sweater  to  sit  on,  and  let  us  have  our  lunch." 

"Oh,  oh,  oh!"  moaned  the  girls,  as  soon  as 
they  caught  sight  of  the  tragedy,  "Oh,  Chet, 
what  made  you  tell  us  ?  We  would  n't  have  been 
nearly  so  hungry!  Oh,  dear,  we  '11  starve  before 
we  get  home!" 

"Well,  we  have  a  great  deal  to  be  thankful  for," 
I  said,  solemnly. 

"WTiat?"    asked  Twinny,  skeptically. 

"That  he  did  n't  land  on  one  of  us,  instead  of 
on  the  box!  Your  name  would  have  been  Twin- 
ny Pancake,  sure!" 

Just  then  a  man  in  uniform  came  out  of  the 
cabin  and  looked  around.  He  saw  the  man  on 
the  floor,  and  came  over  to  him.  "Are  you  hurt  ?" 
he  asked. 

"No,  no,"  mumbled  the  man. 

"Well  then,  what's  the   matter?     Why  don't 


'  '   C    H     E    T  '  '  137 

you  get  up?"  and  held  out  his  hand  to  help 
him. 

"No,  no,"  mumbled  the  man  again,  shaking 
his  head  and  catching  his  breath,  "  I  '11  sit  here." 

"Sure  you  're  not  hurt  ?"   asked  the  sailor. 

"No,  it's  the  danger,  the  terrible  —  "  and  he 
began  rocking  himself  back  and  forth. 

The  sailor  stood  and  looked  at  him,  and  I 
should  have  thought  that  the  big  man  would  have 
shrivelled  up  and  dropped  through  one  of  the 
cracks.  "  Did  n't  you  hear  what  the  captain 
said  .?"   he  demanded. 

"Yes;  but  the  waves,  —  oh!"  as  a  particularly 
big  one  struck  the  boat  and  made  it  roll  so  that 
he  nearly  lost  his  balance,  since  his  hands  had 
nothing  to  clutch. 

"And  you  're  not  sick  V    asked  the  sailor. 

"No,  no,  —  go  away  and  let  me  be!" 

"You  bet  I  will!"  said  the  sailor,  —  and  he  did. 

I  began  watching  the  wake  of  the  boat.  I 
really  did  n't  care  anything  about  the  lunch;  but 
I  hated  to  see  the  man  sit  on  it,  when  there  were 
plenty  of  perfectly  good  chairs  around.  Bess  was 
looking  at  me,  and  I  commenced  whistling  and 
kicking  my  heels  against  the  rail. 


138         '  '    C    H     E    T   " 

A  good  many  of  the  people  had  gone  into  the 
cabin,  and  some  of  those  who  were  outside  did  n't 
seem  to  be  having  a  real  good  time.  The  boat 
kept  rolling  more  and  more  and  the  movement  was 
awfully  unsteady.  She  would  rise  up,  sharply, 
on  a  wave,  seem  to  poise  on  the  top  for  a  moment, 
take  a  side-wise  dip,  and  then  suddenly  the  sea 
would  seem  to  drop  from  under  her  in  the  most 
harrowing  way,  and  in  another  second  she  would 
rise  to  meet  another  wave  so  quickly  that 
you  felt  as  if  you  'd  left  something  behind  and 
needed  it. 

"Don't  you  think  we'd  better  go  inside?" 
asked  Uncle  Fred,  pretty  soon. 

"No,"  said  Mrs.  Walker,  "My  experience  is, 
that  one  feels  much  better  to  stay  out  in  the  fresh 
air.  I  've  been  on  the  water  so  much  that  I  'm 
never  sea-sick." 

"Oh,  I  'm  not  sea-sick!"  said  Uncle  Fred 
quickly.  "  I  just  thought  that  perhaps  you  ladies 
would  be  more  comfortable  inside,  and  —  " 

"I  'm  not  comfortable  inside,"  broke  in  Twin- 
ny,  suddenly  putting  her  head  down  on  her 
mother's  shoulder. 

"I  hate  toasted  marsh-mallows,"  groaned  Twin- 


'  '   C    H     E    T   '  '         139 

ny,  and  down  went  her  other  head  on  the  other 
shoulder;  "I  never  want  to  see  or  smell  another 
one! 

Mrs.  Walker  gathered  them  both  into  her  white 
shawl.  "Now,"  she  said,  "let 's  make  believe  we 
are  at  home,  and  Mother  is  rocking  you,  just  the 
way  she  used  to  when  you  were  wee  little  girls," 
and  she  began  humming  a  soft  little  song. 

Bess  and  I  kept  on  watching  the  wake  of  the 
boat,  and  the  great  waves  that  came  rolling  from 
under  her.  "Feeling  all  right,  Bess?"  I  asked, 
presently. 

"Yes,  I  am,"  said  Bess.  "It  doesn't  bother 
me  the  least  bit." 

Just  then  Uncle  Fred  got  up  and  tossed  away 
his  newspaper.  "  I  guess  I  '11  go  in,"  he  said, 
hastily,  and  made  for  the  cabin. 

I  caught  the  paper  just  as  it  was  flying  over  the 
rail,  and  went  and  sat  down  in  his  chair.  The 
paper  was  interesting,  and  I  read  for  half  an  hour; 
and  then  I  sat  still  and  watched  the  little  black 
and  red  and  green  blurred  letters  dance  over  the 
page.  I  kept  on  whistling,  though,  —  that  is, 
I  did  as  long  as  my  mouth  would  continue  to 
pucker;   but  when  it  absolutely  refused,  I  jumped 


I40         '  *    C    H     E    T   '  ' 

up.  "I'm  going  to  find  Uncle  Fred,"  I  said, 
and  skated  away  across  the  deck,  as  gay  as  you 
please. 

I  went  away  up  in  the  bow  and  sat  down  on 
that  same  coil  of  rope;  and  began  wondering 
what  Bess  did  in  a  case  like  this.  I  'd  have  given  a 
whole  lot  to  know,  and  to  be  able  to  do  it  myself, 
for  I  felt  exactly  like  dish-water,  and  I  'd  been 
fighting  it  for  an  hour.  I  had  made  up  my  mind 
that  I  positively  would  n't  be  sick;  but  I  might 
as  well  have  made  up  my  mind  to  stop  turning 
somersaults,  coming  down  that  sand  dune;  for 
it  was  evident  that  I  was  n't  the  boss  in  this  case. 

Just  then  along  came  Bess,  clinging  to  the  rail, 
her  cheeks  red  and  the  wind  whipping  her  hair. 
She  came  up  to  where  I  was,  and  stood  holding 
onto  the  flag-staff  and  looking  down  at  me;  but 
there  was  n't  a  bit  of  "tease"  in  her  eyes. 

"Bess,"  I  said,  "I  know  exactly  how  a  churn 
feels.  The  only  ambition  that  stirs  its  soul,  is 
for  the  dasher  to  let  up  for  just  one  little  second, 
so  that  it  can  get  square  with  the  world  again, 
and  start  over." 

Bess  sat  down  beside  me.  "Chet,"  she  said, 
"did  you   notice   the  effect  the   captain   and   his 


'  '   C    H     E    T  '  '         141 

uniform  had  upon  the  crowd,  out  there  a  while 
ago? 

I  nodded. 

"And  did  you  notice  the  interest  of  every  one 
in  the  sailor  when  he  came  out  ?  —  how  they  all 
asked  him  questions  and  seemed  to  like  to  have 
him  about  ?" 

"Yes,"  I  said. 

"And  did  it  make  you  think  about  our  talk  of 
the  captain  of  a  boat,  and  about  the  uniforms?" 

"Yes,"  I  said,  "it  just  dodged  through  my  mind 
though,  and  I  was  going  to  take  it  up  with  myself 
later,  when  I  felt  as  if  I  had  some  backbone,  and 
my  teeth  were  n't  all  floating  around  loose." 

Bess  laughed,  and  I  groaned. 

"Bess,"  I  said,  "here  's  a  dandy  good  job  for 
you,  why  don't  you  get  to  work  ?" 

"You  have  n't  asked  me  to,"  said, Bess. 

"Well,  for  goodness'  sake,  does  any  one  have 
to  ask  you,  when  you  can  see  what's  needed?'* 
I  felt  cross  with  Bess  for  that. 

"Chet,"  she  said,  "suppose  the  buttons  on  your 
coat  had  sharp  edges  on  them,  so  that  they  were 
cutting  out  the  button-holes  and  fraying  the  goods, 
and  you  knew  it  and  I  knew  it;  —  would  I  have 


142  '  *    C     H     E     T   " 

any  right  to  cut  those  buttons  off  and  sew  on  others 
without  saying  a  word  to  you,  or  asking  whether 
you  wanted  me  to  or  not  ?" 

I  thought  for  a  minute.  "Well,"  I  said,  "of 
course  it  would  seem  sort  of  meddlesome,  and 
I  don't  suppose  I  d  like  it,  not  to  be  consulted 
at  all." 

"And  how  would  I  know  that  you  wanted  it 
done,  if  you  did  n't  ask  me  to  do  it .?" 

"You  could  ask  m^,"  I  said. 

"But  don't  you  think  that,  {{  you  wanted  it 
done,  and  knew  that  I  could  do  it,  and  would  be 
glad  to,  —  don't  you  think  that  it  would  be  worth 
the  courtesy  of  asking  me  ?" 

"You're  right,"  I  said,  "I  hadn't  thought 
about  it  that  way.  You  really  would  n't  know 
whether  I  wanted  it  done  or  not  unless  I 
asked  you  to,  even  though  it  looked  to  you  as 
if  it  ought  to  be  attended  to.  I  might  want  to 
keep  those  buttons  on  for  sentimental  reasons, 
even  if  they  did  cut." 

"That's  so,"  said  Bess,  "and  I  sometimes 
think  that  there  are  people  who  want  to  keep  their 
sickness  for  sentimental  reasons  too;  so  they 
will  have  something  to  talk  about,  —  or  because 


*  *    C     H     E    T   '  '  143 

their  father  or  grandfather  had  it  before  them,  or 
to  keep  them  company,  or  something  like  that." 

And  then  we  went  to  talking  about  some  of  the 
ideas  she  had,  and  I  got  so  interested  that  I  forgot 
whether  we  were  on  sea  or  on  land,  until  suddenly 
I  noticed  that  it  was  beginning  to  get  dark,  and 
that  I  was  hungry  again. 

"Well,"  I  said,"  what  do  you  think  of  that! 
I  feel  as  fit  as  a  fiddle  and  you  did  n't  have  to  do 
anything  for  me  after  all,"  and  for  some  reason 
I  felt  sort  of  pleased  over  it. 

"No,"  said  Bess,  "I  did  n't.  It  is  n't  the  per- 
sorij  it 's  the  realization  of  the  truth,  which  does 
the  healing;  and  we  have  been  talking  a  good 
deal  of  truth  for  the  last  hour." 

Of  course  I  could  see  that  she  was  probably 
right;  and  that  there  was  nothing  for  me  to  do 
but  say  "thank  you,"  and  then  put  the  experi- 
ence away  to  think  about  when  I  had  lots  of  time 
and  no  interruptions. 

We  talked  for  a  while  longer,  and  then,  when 
the  lights  of  the  city  seemed  very  near,  we  went 
back  to  where  the  others  were,  to  help  gather 
up  wraps  and  things,  and  get  ready  to  go  ashore. 
Twinny  was  heavy-headed  and  half  asleep  and 


144  '  '    C     H     E     T   " 

Uncle  Fred  was  as  cross  as  a  bear,  and  did  n't 
have  any  one  to  take  it  out  on,  so  he  just  looked 
savage  and  hustled  us  ashore,  as  if  every  separate 
one  of  us  was  to  blame  for  the  whole  thing. 

However,  when  he  felt  his  feet  on  solid  ground 
again,  he  brightened  up  some,  and  so  did  the  girls; 
and  he  piloted  us  all  to  a  restaurant  and  set  us 
up  as  fine  a  supper  as  he  could  think  of;  and, 
queerly  enough,  we  were  all  ready  for  it;  and  got 
home  in  the  finest  humor  ever. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

BESS  GOES   STREET-CAR  RIDING 

npHE  next  few  days  went  faster  than  the  speed 
limit,  and  ought  to  have  been  fined  for 
"scorching."  We  did  Chicago  as  thoroughly  as 
it  could  be  done,  and  saw  so  much  that  I  began 
to  feel  as  if  my  mental  store-room  was  getting  over- 
crowded. Bess  called  it  my  experimental-mental 
store-room  because  I  had  told  her  how  I  always 
took  in  everything  that  came  along,  if  it  looked  as 
if  it  could  ever  be  the  least  bit  useful  or  interest- 
ing to  me,  and  put  it  into  that  store-room;  and 
then  sometimes  I  would  take  a  day  off  and  go 
through  the  stock  and  pitch  out  what,  upon  closer 
examination,  I  was  sure  I  would  n't  ever  want, 
and  put  the  things  I  did  want  in  permanent  stor- 
age, and  the  doubtful  ones  back  in  the  shelves 
to  look  over  again  later  on.  Probably  the  next 
time  I  took  'em  down,  I  'd  know  for  sure  whether 
I  wanted  to  keep  'em  or  not.  I  had  Christian 
Science  in  there  on  the  shelf,  waiting  for  further 
investigation;     and   for  the   last  week   I  'd   been 

piling  in  a  lot  of  unsorted  stuff  of  all  kinds,  until 

H5 


146         '  '    C     H     E     T   '  ' 

Bess  said  she  'd  bet  the  whole  room  looked  like 
her  top  bureau  drawer. 

"Well,"  I  said,  "I'll  be  so  busy  with  it  all 
when  I  get  home,  that  I  won't  have  a  chance  to 
get  lonesome." 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  first .?"   asked  Bess. 

"I  'm  going  to  go  in  and  kind  of  get  things  into 
shape,  and  bunch  'em  in  some  sort  of  order,  and 
then  I  'm  going  to  take  down  Christian  Science 
and  have  a  look  at  it,  —  and  then  I  suppose  I  '11 
put  it  up  on  the  shelf  again." 

"H-m,"  said  Bess,  "What  have  you  got  on  the 
shelf  under  that  label  ?" 

"Just  some  small  samples." 

"That  is  n't  a  very  good  stock  to  judge  by,  — 
just  a  few  samples  that  you  have  happened  to 
pick  up.     It  does  n't  give  you  much  to  go  on." 

"No,"  I  said,  "That's  why  I  will  probably 
put  it  back  on  the  shelf,  —  I  have  n't  enough  to 
form  a  fair  opinion." 

Bess  thought  for  a  minute.  "Chet,"  she  said, 
"you  are  going  to  waste  a  lot  of  time  that  way. 
You  ought  to  have  the  real  thing  to  examine. 
Why  don't  you  get  the  text-book  }" 

It  was  my  turn  to  think.     I  had  some  money 


'  '   C    H     E    T   '  '         147 

to  spend,  which  I  had  earned  making  collections 
for  Dad;  but  it  was  n't  any  great  amount,  and 
I  knew  about  what  I  wanted  to  do  with  it.  Yet 
still  I  knew  that  this  thing  was  going  to  stick  to 
me  until  I  got  it  decided.  I  could  n't  pitch  it  out 
if  I  wanted  to,  until  I  was  sure  that  it  was  no  good, 
and  I  could  n't  take  it  in  for  keeps  until  I  had  given 
it  a  fair  going  over;  and  I  saw  that  I  could  n't  do 
that  without  the  book.  I  knew  that  Bess  used  hers 
so  much  that  it  would  n't  be  right  to  ask  to  borrow 
it.  I  could  see  that  I  'd  got  to  come  up  against 
the  thing  some  time,  and  I  'm  for  doing  as 
soon  as  possible  anything  that 's  standing  look- 
ing at  you  and  saying  "Come  on."  Besides,  I 
wanted  to  read  the  book. 

"  I  don't  know,"  I  said,  "  I  '11  see  about  it,  but 
I  suppose  I  '11  have  to  get  it;  for  I  can  never  leave 
things  on  the  shelf  long  without  their  fermenting 
and  getting  the  whole  room  fnussed  up." 

One  evening  we  went  to  a  prayer-meeting  at 
the  Christian  Science  church.  I  was  n't  sure 
whether  I  wanted  to  go  or  not,  but  decided  that 
as  long  as  Bess  wanted  to,  I  might  as  well,  and 
it  would  give  me  some  more  samples  for  the  shelf 
in  my  store-room,  —  and  I  was  glad  I  went. 


148  *  '    C     H     E    T   '  ' 

The  church  was  different  from  any  that  I  had 
ever  been  in  before,  —  big  and  Hght  and  cheery, 
instead  of  dismal  and  heavy,  I  always  wondered 
why  folks  thought  they  ought  to  be  sober  and  sad 
when  they  thought  of  religion,  and  why  they 
always  associated  religion  with  suffering  and 
death.  But  here  everything  made  you  think  of 
happiness  and  life,  and  every  one  seemed  as  if  he 
had  something  to  be  glad  about, —  something  that 
was  lifting  him  up,  instead  of  resting  like  a  weight 
upon  him.  It  surely  did  look  good  to  me.  I 
never  saw  a  prayer-meeting  that  size  before 
in  my  life.  It  was  a  tremendously  big 
church,  and  it  was  crowded  full,  and  people 
standing.  When  we  were  going  home,  I  said  to 
Bess, 

"Was  that  a  prayer-meeting?" 

"Well,"  said  Bess,  "I  don't  see  why  it  could  n't 
be  called  a  prayer-meeting." 

"It  was  n't  like  any  prayer-meeting  I  ever  went 
to  before,  excepting  when  they  said  the  Lord's 
Prayer." 

Bess  thought  for  a  minute.  "Prayer  is  commu- 
nicating with  God,  is  n't  it  ?"    she  said. 

"I  suppose  so." 


"   C    H     E    T  "         149 

"And  if  God  knows  everything,  we  don't  have 
to  tell  Him  a  lot  of  things,  do  we  ?" 

"Why,  no." 

"And  God  is  Good?" 

"Yes."     She  had  explained  that  to  me. 

"Well  then,  thinking  and  talking  good  thoughts, 
must  be  prayer,  because  it  is  putting  us  right  into 
touch  with  Him;  and  so  I  should  think  that  was 
the  very  best  kind  of  a  prayer-meeting." 

"Oh-h-h!"  I  said.    I  had  just  found  something. 

"What  is  it?"    asked  Bess. 

"Why  then,  to  'pray  without  ceasing,'  is  just 
to  think  really  right  thoughts  all  the  time." 

Bess  nodded.     "Of  course,"  she  said. 

"And  there  I  always  thought  that  phrase  was 
an  exaggeration  and  an  impossibility,  for  I 
could  n't  see  how  any  one  could  attend  to  busi- 
ness and  do  it.  This  is  different.  It  would  be 
a  mighty  good  thing  for  one's  business." 

We  walked  on  for  a  while  and  I  thought  it 
over.  By  and  by  I  said,  —  "  Bess,  do  you  sup- 
pose that  all  of  those  people  are  sincere  ?" 

Bess  smiled.  "Are  you  sincere  in  believing 
that  two  and  two  are  four?" 

"Of  course,"  I  said,  "I  couldn't  help  believ- 


I50  *  '    C     H     E     T   '  ' 

ing  it,  if  I  wanted  to,  after  I  had  once  learned  it, 
and  knew  why." 

"Well,  it's  the  same  with  Christian  Science. 
If  you  once  understand  it,  you  have  n't  any  more 
choice  in  the  matter  than  you  have  in  two  and  two, 
—  you  've  got  it,  and  it 's  got  you,  and  it  is  n't 
a  question  of  whether  you  want  to  be  sincere  or 
not  —  you,  simply  know  it,  and  that  settles  it 
for  you,  and  you  can't  get  away  from  it." 

I  looked  at  her  and  wondered  if  I  would  ever 
come  to  see  it  that  way.  We  did  n't  talk  much  the 
rest  of  the  way  home.  I  was  in  my  experimental- 
mental  store-room,  and  streets  and  houses  and 
people  were  n't  anywhere.  Some  one  had  said 
something  about  feeling  kindly  toward  every  one, 
whether  they  were  of  the  same  religion  or  not,  and 
that  people's  opinions  about  God  and  Christ 
ought  to  be  the  last  thing  in  the  world  to  separate 
them  from  one  another,  and  that  gave  me  a  lot  to 
think  about. 

When  we  reached  Aunt  Fannie's,  I  got  into  a 
Morris  chair  and  went  back  into  my  store-room 
until  Uncle  Fred,  with  a  tease  is  his  eyes,  said,  — 
"Chet,  you're  in  a  brown  study.  That's  bad. 
Don't  take  up  a  religion  where  you  have  to  think. 


"    C    H     E    T   '  '  151 

Don't  puzzle  over  the  deep  things.  Take  up 
something  where  all  you  have  to  do  is  to  be  good 
according  to  rules  laid  down,  —  then  you  don't 
have  to  exercise  your  gray  matter.  It 's  much 
easier  and  more  comfortable,  and  does  n't  inter- 
fere with  your  usual  pursuits." 

"But  we  have  to  think  sometimes,"  I  said, 
"It's  in  us." 

Uncle  Fred  shook  his  head  solemnly  and  pulled 
down  the  corners  of  his  mouth.  "Chester," 
he  said,  "  I  am  compelled  to  believe  that  you  and 
Elizabeth  think  too  much.  When  one  thinks  too 
much,  one  asks  questions  —  hard  questions  — 
and  people  who  ask  hard  questions  are  n't  popu- 
lar in  most  circles." 

"They  are  in  ours,"  said  Bess. 

"Well,  yours  may  be  an  exception,"  said  Uncle 
Fred,  "  and  if  you  get  'em  answered,  you  '11  know 
too  much,  and  the  rest  of  us  will  have  to  — " 

"Have  to  what.?"    asked  Aunt  Fannie. 

Uncle  Fred  heaved  a  funny  sigh.  "Do  some 
studying  to  catch  up." 

I  was  in  Chicago  for  ten  days;  but  where  they 
went,  I  '11  never  know.     They  just  dropped  into 


152  "    C     H     E     T   '  ' 

the  past  so  fast  that  I  lost  count.  We  saw  Twinny 
several  times;  but  I  never  got  real  well  acquainted 
with  her;  for  just  about  the  time  that  I  began  to 
think  that  I  knew  her  pretty  well,  I  'd  find  she 
was  the  other  one,  and  then  I  'd  have  to  begin 
all  over.  Other  people  did  n't  seem  to  have  so 
much  trouble,  for  they  were  contented  to  just 
bunch  them,  and  let  it  go  at  that;  but  I  liked  one 
so  much  better  than  the  other,  and  could  n't  keep 
track  of  which  one  it  was,  and  it  bothered  me. 
The  day  I  started  for  home,  Bess  and  I  went  down 
town  early  and  I  got  my  Christian  Science  text- 
book, and  took  it  along  to  read  on  the  train.  I 
knew  it  was  up  to  me  to  do  it,  because  the  subject 
sat  on  the  edge  of  the  shelf  and  stared  at  me  all 
the  time,  and  I  had  to  tackle  it  or  have  it  inter- 
fering with  all  the  work  I  wanted  to  do  in  that 
room.  Bess  had  changed  the  name  of  my  store- 
room, and  now  she  called  it  my  "brown  study." 
She  got  that  from  Uncle  Fred,  and  it  was  n't  at 
all  bad. 

I  did  n't  read  on  the  way  home,  after  all;  for 
there  was  a  man  in  my  seat  who  had  been  a  rail- 
road man  for  twenty-five  years,  and  he  got  to 
telling  me  about  things,  —  how  to  figure  on  how 


'  '   C    H     E    T   "  153 

fast  the  train  was  going,  by  counting  the  jars  at 
the  rail-ends,  to  see  how  many  to  the  minute, 
and  counting  each  rail  as  thirty  feet  long,  and 
fifty-two  hundred  and  eighty  feet  to  the  mile. 
It  was  mighty  interesting.  And  he  told  me  a  lot 
about  telegraph  poles,  and  how  long  they  lasted, 
and  how  they  were  putting  in  cement  bases  to 
make  them  last  longer,  because  they  decayed 
first  underground.  He  had  travelled  all  over  the 
country  and  knew  about  every  town  in  it,  I 
asked  him  what  was  the  very  most  satisfactory 
place,  in  every  way,  that  he  had  ever  found,  — 
that  is,  where  he  would  settle  if  he  had  his  choice 
of  every  place  where  he  had  ever  been,  and  he 
said  Seattle.  I  was  never  so  surprised  in  my  life, 
for  I  had  always  thought  of  that  town  as  being  so 
far  away  from  everything,  —  just  about  the  jump- 
ing-ofF-place.  I  asked  if  it  was  because  he  liked 
some  one  there,  and  he  said  no,  that  it  was  simply 
the  all-round  nicest  place  that  he  had  ever  struck, 
and  suited  him  down  to  the  ground.  I  can't 
understand  it  yet,  for  on  the  map  it  looks  so  sort 
of  lonesome  and  away  from  us,  —  but  he  was 
mighty  certain  in  his  own  mind. 
After  I  got  home  I  was  so  busy  for  a  few  days 


154  *  *   C    H     E    T   '  ' 

that  I  did  n't  get  a  chance  for  even  a  peep  into 
either  the  book  or  the  brown  study,  —  and  then 
came  a  letter  from  Bess.  It  did  n't  begin  like 
most  letters,  but  started  in  this  way :  — 

"Good-morning.  What's  the  use  of  labelling 
a  friendly  letter  at  the  start,  just  as  if  you  were 
likely  to  forget  who  you  were  writing  to,  and  have 
to  turn  back  every  now  and  then,  to  find  out .? 
When  I  meet  you  on  the  street,  I  don't  start  in 
with  'Dear  Chet,'  and  then  say  what  I  have  on 
my  mind,  and  I  don't  see  why  I  should  in  a  letter. 

"Father  got  in  here  last  night,  and  we  are 
going  to  leave  to-morrow  for  Indianapolis.  Don't 
mind  that  the  t's  and  Vs  in  this  letter  seem  to 
feel  themselves  so  much  above  the  others.  That 
is  because  my  type-writer  had  a  set-to  with  some 
expressman  on  the  way  here,  and  came  out 
wabbly.  At  least,  I  suppose  that  is  what  hap- 
pened. I  doctored  il  with  my  manicure  set,  but 
it  is  n't  on  the  level  yet.  I  'm  going  to  have  it 
fixed  in  Indianapolis.  I  did  n't  dare  to  tell  you, 
when  you  were  here,  that  it  was  n't  working  right, 
for  I  knew  you  would  get  at  it  —  and  I  was  afraid 
it  would  come  out  worse  than  it  did  with  the 
expressman. 


'  '   C    H    E    T   "         155 

"Night  before  last  I  went  out  with  Uncle  Fred. 
We  went  to  the  University.  You  see,  he  had  run 
across  a  girl  he  knew,  and  found  that  a  friend 
of  both  of  them  was  attending  the  University 
and  so  they  agreed  to  go  out  there  and  call,  and 
he  asked  me  to  go  along,  —  because  it  was  just 
about  the  only  place  that  I  had  n't  been.  The 
girl  who  went  with  us  is  just  as  sweet  as  she  can 
be.  She  's  little  and  pretty  and  jolly  and  her  name 
is  Kathleen,  and  her  eyes  looked  so  loving  that 
I  had  hold  of  her  hand  before  I  knew  it,  and  she 
was  telling  me  about  her  pansies  and  nasturtiums, 
and  just  how  she  planted  sweet-peas.  I  don't 
see  how  she  knew  right  off  that  I  love  flowers! 

"Uncle  Fred  had  telephoned  to  Miss  Mills, 
at  the  University,  that  we  were  coming;  and  we 
started  at  about  half-past  seven,  because  he  said 
it  was  so  far  out  there,  and  when  we  got  down 
town,  he  said  we  had  to  take  a  cable  car.  Miss 
Kathleen  asked  why  it  would  n't  be  better  to 
take  a  suburban  railroad  train,  because  it  would 
be  so  much  quicker,  but  Uncle  Fred  insisted  that 
Miss  Mills  said  for  us  to  take  a  cable  car,  and  he 
was  going  to  exactly  follow  her  directions.  Miss 
Kathleen    did  n't    insist,     because    she    does  n't 


156  *'   C    H     E    T   '  ' 

know  the  town  very  well,  either,  and  was  n't  sure 
whether  the  suburban  line  went  there.  I  don't 
believe  that  it  would  have  made  any  difference  if 
she  had,  for  Uncle  Fred  is  awfully  stubborn  when 
he  is  n't  sure  about  a  thing. 

"We  went  over  to  Wabash  Avenue  and  stopped 
on  a  corner  to  wait  for  a  car. 

"'Fred,'  said  Miss  Kathleen,  after  a  while, 
*this  is  the  wrong  corner.' 

"*No,'  said  Uncle  Fred,  'they  stop  on  the  near 
side  of  the  street  here.' 

"  *  I  don't  think  so,'  said  Miss  Kathleen.  'I  'm 
almost  sure  they  stop  on  the  far  side.' 

"*You  watch  and  see,'  said  Uncle  Fred,  grin- 
ning. *  I  '11  bet  you  that  longest  stemmed 
American  Beauty,'  and  he  pointed  toward  a 
florist's  window  across  the  street,  'against  that 
pink  cosmos  you  're  wearing.' 

"  *  Done,'  said  Miss  Kathleen. 

"I  didn't  say  a  word;  for  I  knew  that  he 
would  wait  on  that  corner  until  a  car  came  along, 
if  the  whole  of  Chicago  told  him  differently. 

"We  waited  a  while  longer.  'Guess  there's 
a  tie-up  somewhere,'  said  Uncle  Fred,  standing 
on  one  foot. 


'  *   C    H    E    T   "  157 

"'We  might  save  time  by  getting  the  rose 
while  we  wait,'  said  Miss  Kathleen. 

"'Not  on  your  life,'  said  Uncle  Fred.  'That 
cosmos  blossom  —  '  but  just  then  a  train  of  three 
cars  came  in  sight  around  a  corner  up  the  street. 
*  There  she  comes ! '  he  cried, '  Get  ready  to  pile  on.' 

"  It  took  the  train  ever  so  long  to  reach  us,  and 
when  it  was  almost  there,  we  stepped  down  from 
the  curbing  and  Uncle  Fred  held  up  his  hand  for 
them  to  stop;  but  the  grip-man  shook  his  head, 
and  as  the  last  car  sailed  by,  the  conductor  leaned 
off  and  put  his  hand  up  to  his  mouth  and  yelled, 
'Go  to  the  other  corner!' 

"'The  dickens!'  said  Uncle  Fred,  and  looked 
as  if  he  wanted  to  punch  the  conductor;  then  he 
grabbed  Miss  Kathleen's  arm  and  my  hand,  and 
started  after  the  car. 

"  Miss  Kathleen  tried  to  hang  back.  '  We  can't 
get  it  now,  Fred,'  she  said.  'See,  there  are  only 
two  people  to  get  on,  and  it  won't  wait  for  us.' 

"'Yes  it  will,'  cried  Uncle  Fred,  hustling  us 
along,  'Come  on!'  But  it  didn't  wait,  and  in 
a  minute  we  were  standing  in  the  middle  of  the 
muddy  street,  and  the  car  was  bowling  along 
just  out  of  reach. 


158         "   C    H    E    T  '  ' 

"Uncle  Fred  looked  after  it  for  about  a  second, 
and  then  he  shrugged  his  shoulders,  *Let  's  go 
in  and  buy  that  rose,'  he  said. 

"Just  as  we  turned  toward  the  curb,  a  little 
newsboy,  the  very  littlest  one  I  ever  saw,  jumped 
off  of  it  and  started  to  run  across  the  street.  I 
had  n't  noticed  him  before,  and  he  started  so 
quickly,  yelling  his  papers,  that  I  turned  suddenly 
and  stumbled  against  him,  and  he  went  sprawling 
into  the  mud 

"I  was  never  so  surprised  in  all  my  life,  and 
just  stood  staring,  with  my  mouth  open.  Uncle 
Fred  and  Miss  Kathleen  turned  at  the  sound  of 
the  fall,  and  I  pointed  to  where  the  little  fellow 
was  scrambling  to  his  feet,  and  gasped,  *  I  knocked 
that  little  boy  down!' 

"Uncle  Fred  looked  at  me  indignantly.  *Well,' 
he  said,  severely,  *  I  'm  sure  that  'j  nothing  to  brag 
of.  He  is  n't  more  than  half  as  big  as  you  are.' 
Then  he  called  the  boy  and  gave  him  a  quarter. 
*You  must  excuse  the  young  lady  there,'  he  said, 
pointing  to  me;  'She  's  from  the  country,  and  is 
sort  of  savage  yet;  but  you  need  n't  be  afraid  — 
I  '11  see  that  she  does  n't  do  it  again.' 

"The  boy  grinned  and  shoved  the  money  into 


(  ( 


C    H    E    T  "  159 


his  pocket,  and  then  we  went  into  the  flower 
store,  and  Miss  Kathleen  came  out  with  three 
big  American  Beauties,  and  I  had  some  Killarney 
buds,  and  Uncle  Fred  had  the  cosmos.  Another 
car  was  just  coming  along,  and  Uncle  Fred  hur- 
ried us  aboard. 

"'Are  you  sure  this  is  the  right  car?'  asked 
Miss  Kathleen. 

"'Sure,'  said  Uncle  Fred.  'She  said  to  take 
a  Cottage  Grove  car  labelled  "Jackson  Park,"  and 
that  it  was  blue,  and  I  saw  the  name  on  the  grip.' 

"'But  this  car  is  green,'  said  Miss  Kathleen. 

"'Well,  the  grip  and  the  other  car  are  blue, 
and  this  one  can't  go  traipsing  ofF  by  itself  with- 
out any  grip,  can  it,  just  because  it  happens  to  be 
green  ^  I  guess  we  're  safe  enough.  You  two  may 
as  well  settle  down;  for  it  takes  nearly  an  hour  to 
get  there.'  Then  he  and  Miss  Kathleen  went 
to  talking  about  the  folks  in  their  home  town,  and 
I  began  looking  out  of  the  rear  window  and 
watching  the  high  buildings  seem  to  rise  up  behind 
the  nearer  ones,  as  we  drew  away  from  them. 

"We  had  been  riding  for  about  ten  minutes, 
when  at  one  of  the  stops  there  was  a  great  rattling 
of  chains  and  shouting,  and  then  we  started  off 


i6o         "    C     H     E    T  '  ' 

again  and  turned  a  corner  with  a  sharp  swing, 
and  went  spinning  along  so  differently  that  I  sat 
up  and  began  to  take  notice.  The  car  was  singing 
and  buzzing,  instead  of  rattling  and  jarring,  as  it 
did  before,  and  I  began  to  wonder.  Uncle  Fred 
and  Miss  Kathleen  were  so  busy  talking  that  they 
had  n't  noticed  anything.  I  leaned  forward  and 
tried  to  look  out  of  the  front  end  of  the  car;  but 
the  windows  only  reflected  the  inside,  and  so  I 
turned  and  looked  backward  again,  with  my  hand 
up  beside  my  face;  but  there  was  n't  anything  in 
particular  to  see.  By  and  by  we  swung  around 
another  corner,  and  I  could  tell  by  the  way  we 
went  around,  that  we  were  n't  hitched  to  any  other 
car,  —  there  was  n't  any  jarring  of  the  couplings. 

"When  I  was  real  sure,  I  leaned  over.  'Uncle 
Fred,'  I  said. 

"'Well  r   said  Uncle  Fred,  'Getting  tired  .?' 

"'No;  but  you  said  this  car  could  n't  go 
traipsing  off  by  itself. ' 

"'That's  what  I  did,'  said  Uncle  Fred,  cheer- 
fully. 

'"Well,  Uncle  Fred,'  I  said,  'It  is.' 

^"It  is  what?' 

^"Going  by  itself.' 


"    C    H     E     T   '  '  i6i 

"He  looked  at  me  and  smiled  with  pleased 
interest.     'What  *s  the  joke,  Elizabeth  ?' 

I  don't  know  as  there  is  any  joke/  I  said; 
'  but  you  said  it  was  a  cable  car,  and  it  sounds 
like  a  trolley,  and  I  'm  sure  it  is  n't  hitched  to 
anything.' 

"'Wake  up,  Elizabeth,'  he  said,  patiently, 
*Wake  up,  we  '11  soon  be  there.  You  dreamed  — ' 
and  then  he  suddenly  pricked  up  his  ears  and 
wrinkled  his  forehead;  'Does  sound  like  a  trolley, 
though,  does  n't  it .?     That 's  funny.' 

"  Just  then  the  conductor  came  through.  Uncle 
Fred  stopped  him.  'What  motive  power  has  this 
car?'    he  asked,  sort  of  accusingly. 

"'Trolley,'  answered  the  conductor. 

"Uncle  Fred  looked  around  at  us  and  at  the 
passengers  and  then  back  to  the  conductor. 
'Perhaps  my  memory  deceives  me,'  he  remarked; 
'but  I  had  the  impression  that  I  boarded  a  cable 
car.' 

"The  conductor  laughed.  'Yes,'  he  said,  'the 
cable  takes  this  car  to  Eighteenth  Street,  and  then 
she  takes  the  trolley  wire.' 

"*And  where  does  this  car  go?"  asked  Uncle 
Fred,  keeping  his  face  turned  away  from  us. 


i62         '  *    C    H     E    T   '  ' 

"'Down  Indiana  Avenue/ 

"'Will  it  land  us  anywhere  near  the  University  ?' 

"'About  two  miles.' 

"Uncle  Fred  groaned.  'See  here/  he  said,  'if 
you  wanted  to  go  to  the  University  and  had  n't 
any  tag  around  your  neck,  what  would  you  do  ?' 

"'Well,'  said  the  conductor,  'if  you  had  spoken 
before  we  got  to  Eighteenth  Street,  I  could  have 
transferred  you  to  the  car  ahead;  but  as  it  is,  I 
guess  you  'd  better  stay  on  until  we  get  to  Thirty- 
first  Street,  and  I  '11  give  you  transfers  onto  the 
Thirty-first  Street  line,  and  then  the  conductor  on 
that  Hne  will  give  you  transfers  back  onto  the 
Cottage  Grove  line.' 

'"AH  right,'  said  Uncle  Fred,  meekly,  'anything 
you  say.  Give  us  the  transfers,  and  if  I  don't 
get  off  at  the  right  street,  just  kindly  throw  me 
off,  will  you  ? ' 

"The  conductor  laughed  again  and  punched 
some  long  pink  slips  and  held  them  out;  but 
Uncle  Fred  shook  his  head  and  pointed  to  me. 
*  Give  them  to  the  lady,'  he  said,  '  I  'm  not  respon- 
sible.' 

"  I  folded  the  slips  and  put  them  into  my  pocket, 
and  then  we  rode  for  quite  a  long  time.     By  and 


'  '   C    H    E    T   "         163 

by  the  conductor  came  and  told  us  to  get  off, 
and  showed  us  which  corner  to  go  to,  and  warned 
us  to  take  a  car  going  the  right  way;  and  in  a  few 
minutes  we  were  bowling  along  again  in  a  trolley. 
We  did  n't  ride  very  long  that  time,  and  when  we 
got  off,  we  were  close  to  the  lake  again,  and  I 
could  see  over  a  stone  wall,  the  little  shining 
waves,  with  the  moonlight  making  a  path  across 
them.  I  'd  have  liked  to  stay  and  watch  it;  but 
a  blue  cable  train  was  coming,  and  it  was  labelled 
'Cottage  Grove  Avenue'  all  right,  so  Uncle  Fred 
hustled  us  on  again,  and  we.  began  rattling  and 
rumbling  along. 

"Uncle  Fred  leaned  back  and  heaved  a  sigh 
of  relief,  as  soon  as  we  were  seated,  and  they  went 
to  talking  again,  and  I  put  my  hand  up  beside  my 
face  and  looked  out  of  the  rear  window.  It 
was  n't  a  pretty  street,  such  as  you  would  expect 
from  the  name,  for  it  was  all  made  up  of  small 
stores  and  shops,  and  sometimes  the  entrance  to 
a  little  park  with  trees  and  houses,  and  sometimes 
I  could  catch  a  gleam  of  the  lake,  at  the  ends  of 
the  cross  streets.  And  then,  by  and  by,  the  stores 
stopped  and  there  began  to  be  houses,  and  then 
there  were  a  lot  of  trees  and  bushes  on  one  side 


i64         '  '    C     H     E     T    '  ' 

and  I  knew  it  was  a  large  park,  but  I  had  n't 
an  idea  which  one  for  I  was  so  mixed  up.  I 
saw  some  fountains,  and  it  was  beautiful  in  under 
the  dark  trees,  where  the  moonlight  spotted  the 
ground. 

"After  a  while  Uncle  Fred  turned  around. 
'Feeling  lonesome  .?'  he  asked.  'It 's  a  shame  to 
neglect  you  this  way.' 

'"No,  no,'  I  said,  'I  'm  enjoying  it.  I  told  you 
not  to  bother  about  me.  You  can't  see  Miss 
Kathleen  every  day.' 

'"I  wish  I  could,'  he  said,  and  then  they  both 
laughed.  'Well,  we're  'most  there,  anyway,  I 
guess,'  and  just  then  the  conductor  came  through. 
'Stop  at  Ellis  Avenue,  please,'  said  Uncle  Fred, 
carelessly.     He  had  got  back  all  his  confidence. 

"'Ain't  on  our  line,'  said  the  conductor. 

"Uncle  Fred's  jaw  dropped.  He  looked  as  if 
he  wanted  to  say  something  large,  but  was  n't 
equal  to  the  size  of  it,  and  so  just  gave  up.  He 
sat  and  stared  at  the  conductor  for  about  a  minute. 
At  last  he  sort  of  moistened  his  lips  and  swallowed 
hard.  'It  is  n't  on  this  Hne  ?'  he  said,  in  a  thin 
sort  of  a  voice.  '  Is  n't  this  the  Cottage  Grove 
line?* 


'  '    C    H    E    T   "         165 

"'Yes.' 

'go 


'"And  this  car  does  n't  eo  to  Ellis  Avenue  ? ' 


"'No.' 

"'Well  then,  where  —  where   in   eternity   does 
it  go.?' 

"'To  Oakwoods  Cemetery,'  said  the  conductor. 


CHAPTER   IX 

THE  REST  OF  BESS's  LETTER 

"TVTISS  KATHLEEN  and  I  snickered.  Uncle 
Fred  just  sat  and  looked  at  the  con- 
ductor and  kept  on  moistening  his  lips.  By 
and  by  he  spoke.  'Don't  you  think  your  street 
car  system  is  a  trifle  complicated  ^'  he  asked 
sarcastically. 

"'Not  at  all,'  said  the  conductor,  swelling  out 
his  chest.  'You  ought  to  of  got  onto  a  Jackson 
Park  train  instead  of  this,  that 's  all.' 

"Uncle  Fred  bit  his  under  lip.  He  had  for- 
gotten about  looking  at  the  grip  to  see  whether 
it  was  a  Jackson  Park  train. 

"  '  'Tain't  too  late,  though,'  said  the  conductor, 
after  enjoying  Uncle  Fred's  face  for  a  minute. 
'  We  ain't  to  Fifty-fifth  Street  yet.  I  '11  give  you 
transfers  and  you  can  change  there.' 

"Uncle  Fred  didn't  look  at  either  of  us,  but 
sat  and  fingered  the  transfers.  After  a  while  he 
turned  to  Miss  Kathleen.  'Do  you  remember 
Mark  Twain's  "  Pink  trip  slip  for  a  six-cent  fare, 
punch    in    the    presence    of    the    passengaire "  .f* 

1 66 


*  '   C    H     E    T   '  '         167 

Well,  I  'm  getting  these  transfers  on  the  brain. 
First  Bess  had  three  pink  ones,  and  then  she  had 
seventeen  blue  ones,  and  now  I  have  thirty-two 
orange  ones  —  I  think  there  's  thirty-two  —  thirty- 
two,  please  count  'em,'  and  he  put  his  hand  to  his 
head.  But  just  then  we  came  to  where  there  was 
a  tall  switch-tower,  and  on  the  other  side,  a  great 
building  full  of  machinery,  and  we  got  off  there. 
I  wanted,  perfectly  dreadfully,  to  go  into  the 
power-house,  as  Uncle  Fred  called  it,  for  I  could 
see,  through  the  windows,  the  great  wheels 
turning  and  the  bands  flying;  but  it  was  get- 
ting so  late  in  the  evening  that  I  did  n't  dare  to 
even  suggest  it. 

"Pretty  quick  a  car  came  along;  but  Uncle 
Fred  would  n't  let  us  get  aboard  until  he  had 
called  to  the  conductor  and  asked  if  it  went  to 
Ellis  Avenue. 

"'Sure,'  said  the  conductor,  *Q)me  on,'  and 
we  climbed  in. 

"'Now,'  said  Uncle  Fred,  as  we  ranged  our- 
selves along  the  seat,  'we  're  hot  on  the  trail. 
It  can't  get  away  from  us  this  time,  that 's  sure,' 
and  he  began  to  look  quite  brash  again.  'She 
said  to  get  off  at  Ellis  Avenue,'  he  went  on,  'and 


i68  '  *    C     H     E     T    '  ' 

go  straight  south  and  we  'd  come  to  Foster  Hall 
—  could  n't  miss  it!' 

"'She  does  n't  know  you  very  well,  does  she  ?' 
asked  Miss  Kathleen,  laughing  a  little.  Then 
she  stared  down  at  her  muddy  shoes  and  the 
draggled  edge  of  her  gown;  but  she  could  n't 
look  sober  for  two  seconds,  and  the  dimples  kept 
chasing  around  the  corners  of  her  mouth  every 
time  she  caught  a  glimpse  of  my  eyes.  We 
had  n't  either  of  us  dared  to  laugh  as  much  as 
we  wanted  to,  for  fear  of  hurting  Uncle  Fred's 
feelings,  but  I  'd  been  getting  fuller  and  fuller 
ever  since  we  started,  and  it  positively  seemed  as 
if  I  could  not  keep  it  in  two  seconds  longer. 
When  I  caught  her  eye  I  did  give  one  little  squeal, 
and  then  I  tried  to  turn  it  into  a  cough,  and 
Uncle  Fred  looked  at  me  suspiciously  and  opened 
his  mouth,  and  just  then  the  conductor  called 
'  EUis  Avenue.' 

"We  climbed  off  and  started  down  the  street. 
It  did  n't  take  long  to  get  there,  and  Uncle  Fred 
went  up  the  wide  steps  of  the  long  building,  look- 
ing sort  of  triumphant,  and  with  his  shoulders  well 
back,  and  Miss  Kathleen  and  I  followed,  shaking 
out    our   skirts    and  patting  our  hair  into  place. 


*  *    C     H     E    T  '  '.         169 

"Just  inside  of  the  door  was  what  appeared  to 
be  an  office,  and  two  men  were  sitting  there. 
Uncle  Fred  walked  up  to  one  of  them.  *We 
would  like  to  see  Miss  Mills,'  he  said,  taking  out 
some  cards. 

"'What  is  the  name  ?'    asked  the  man. 

"'The  names  are  on  the  cards,'  said  Uncle 
Fred,  rather  stiffly. 

"'I  mean  the  name  you  asked  for,'  said  the  man. 

"'Oh!     Miss  Mills.' 

"The  man  shook  his  head.  'We  have  no  one 
of  that  name  here,'  he  said. 

"'Oh,  yes  you  have,'  said  Uncle  Fred,  very 
decidedly;   'Miss  Eleanor  Mills,  of  Tennessee.' 

"The  man  shook  his  head  again.  'No,'  he 
said,  'there's  no  such  name  on  our  books.' 

"Uncle  Fred  began  to  look  annoyed.  'I  don't 
wish  to  dispute  you,'  he  said,  with  a  whole  lot  of 
dignity;  'but  she  told  me  that  she  was  here.  I 
had  her  on  the  telephone  this  afternoon.  Of 
course  it  is  possible  that  she  did  n't  know  where 
she  was  staying,  but  she  seemed  to.  She  was  here 
all  last  year,  as  well.' 

"The  man  pursed  his  lips.  *I  don't  know  any 
such  name,'  he  said  again. 


I/O         *  '   C    H    E    T   '  ' 

"Uncle  Fred  squared  his  shoulders  and  threw 
back  his  head.  'Probably  not,'  he  said,  cuttingly; 
*but  perhaps  you  can  direct  me  to  some  one  pos- 
sessed of  some  knowledge  of  this  institution.' 

"The  man  glowered  at  him.  'I  'm  in  charge 
here,'  he  said,  gruffly. 

"Uncle  Fred  glanced  around  at  us  with  an 
expression  which  said  'Stick  to  the  ship,  I  '11  take 
her  through,'  and  then  he  turned  back  to  the  man, 
who  was  standing  with  both  hands  on  the  desk 
and  looking  like  Gibraltar.  They  stared  at  each 
other  for  about  a  minute;  and  then  Uncle  Fred 
began,  very  slowly;  'My  friend.  Miss  Eleanor 
Mills,  of  Tennessee,  informed  me  to-day  that  she 
was  here  at  Foster  Hall  —  this  is  Foster  Hall, 
I  believe  ^ ' 

"A  slow  grin  overspread  the  man's  face.  'Well 
—  no  —  not  exactly,'  he  drawled,  'This  is  the 
Home  for  Incurables.' 

"I  wish  you  could  have  seen  Uncle  Fred's  face. 
He  opened  and  shut  his  mouth  several  times 
before  any  words  came.  At  last  he  said,  in  a 
little,  small  voice,  — 

"'You  haven't  any  room  here  for  me,  have 
you.?* 


'  *   C    H     E    T  '  '  171 

"The  man  looked  him  over.  'Well/  he  said, 
*  we  're  pretty  full  at  present,  but  in  urgent  cases 
like  yours  — ' 

"  But  Miss  Kathleen  and  I  did  n't  wait  to  hear 
any  more.  We  bolted,  and  then  we  dropped  down 
on  the  steps  and  hugged  each  other  and  laughed 
until  we  were  so  weak  that  we  could  scarcely 
sit  up. 

"After  a  while  Uncle  Fred  came  out,  mopping 
his  face  with  his  handkerchief.  *  It 's  on  me, 
girls,'  he  said,  dismally.  *I  don't  like  to  confess 
it,  for  I  'm  not  a  real  old  man  yet,  but  I  'm  cer- 
tainly in  my  second  childhood.  Do  either  of 
you  feel  equal  to  leading  this  expedition .''  Of 
course  things  are  looking  up  a  little,  —  that  is, 
there  is  a  shade  more  of  cheerfulness  in  the  Home 
for  Incurables,  as  contrasted  with  the  cemetery, 
but  the  next  stop  is  so  blamed  uncertain  — * 

"Miss  Kathleen  rose  up.  'I'll  be  pilot,'  she 
said,  determinedly,  'and  if  it's  on  ElHs  Avenue, 
I  '11  find  it,'  and  she  picked  up  her  skirts  and 
marched  down  the  steps,  Uncle  Fred  and  I  fol- 
lowing meekly.  ^ 

"  She  got  us  there  all  right,  though  it  was  n*t 
on    Ellis    Avenue    after    all,     and    we    had    an 


172         '  '    C    H     E    T    " 

awfully  good  time  with  Miss  Mills;  but  we  did  n't 
tell  her  anything  about  our  troubles  on  the  way, 
for  Uncle  Fred  looked  so  afraid  we  would,  that 
we  had  n't  the  heart  to.  Of  course  I  did  n't  see 
much  of  the  University,  but  what  I  did  see  I  '11 
tell  you  about  when  I  get  home. 

"When  it  was  time  to  go,  Miss  Mills  said  we  'd 
better  take  the  suburban  train  because  it  was  so 
much  quicker.  She  said  that  she  had  suggested 
our  coming  the  way  we  did,  so  that  we  could  see 
a  little  more  of  the  city,  and  Uncle  Fred  said  it 
was  kind  of  her.  Then  she  got  out  her  time- 
table and  said  that  there  was  a  train  every  half- 
hour  at  that  time  of  night,  and  that  we  had  just 
about  time  to  get  one;  and  so  we  started  in  a  hurry. 

"'Don't  you  think  we  'd  better  go  back  the  way 
we  came  ? '  asked  Uncle  Fred,  as  soon  as  we  were 
out  of  doors.     *We  know  that  route  now.' 

"*Do  we?'  said  Miss  Kathleen,  scornfully. 
*I  doubt  it.  No,  sir,  I  'm  pilot,  and  I  'm  going  to 
take  you  safe  home  in  the  shortest  possible 
time.' 

"So  off  we  started,  Miss  Kathleen  chatting  and 
laughing  over  her  visit  with  Miss  Mills,  and 
Uncle  Fred  staring  around  gloomily  and  shaking 


"    C    H     E    T   "         173 

his  head.  By  and  by  he  looked  at  his  watch. 
*We  've  got  to  hurry,'  he  said. 

'"We  're  almost  there,'  said  Miss  Kathleen, 
*See,  there  's  the  viaduct  she  told  us  about.' 

"We  hurried  along  and  went  in  under  the 
shadow  of  the  great  girders  and  there,  sure  enough 
was  a  turn-stile  and  a  little  ticket-office;  but  there 
was  no  light  in  the  ticket-office,  and  the  turn- 
stile only  turned  one  way,  and  that  was  the  way 
that  kept  us  out. 

"Uncle  Fred  looked  at  Miss  Kathleen  and 
smiled  cheerfully,  — I  could  see  by  the  sputtering 
electric  light  across  the  street.  'We  've  got  just 
three  minutes,'  he  remarked. 

"*Well,  why  don't  you  do  something.?'  ex- 
claimed Miss  Kathleen,  desperately. 

"*I  could  climb  over,'  said  Uncle  Fred,  'Could 
you  r 

"'No,'  said  Miss  Kathleen,  'I  couldn't,  and 
you  could  n't,  either.  The  space  at  the  top 
would  n't  even  let  Bess  through.  No,  do  some- 
thing else.  The  ticket-agent  must  be  asleep,  — 
pound  on  the  window.' 

"Uncle  Fred  tried  to  look  through  the  glass, 
but  it  was  all  dark,  so  he  began  to  pound  on  the 


174  '  '    C     H     E     T    '  ' 

window-frame  with  his  cane;  and  then  a  big 
policeman  loomed  out  of  the  darkness  beyond 
the  viaduct,  and  came  up  to  us  scowling. 

"'What  you  trying  to  do  ?'  he  asked. 

"Uncle  Fred  looked  at  him  and  took  on  his 
funny,  meek  little  way  that  reminds  me  of  Uncle 
Rob.  'Well,'  he  said,  'I  was  trying  to  break 
through  and  steal  an  engine,  but  now  you  've 
come,  I  suppose  it 's  all  up.  You  see,  we  were 
wanting  to  go  down  town,  and  we  can't  seem  to 
get  the  hang  of  your  transportation  system  here. 
I  thought  that  if  I  could  manage  to  swipe  an 
engine  or  a  hand-car  —  but  since  you  're  here,  of 
course  it 's  no  use.' 

"The  policeman  grinned.  *I  guess  some 
tickets  will  do  you  all  right.  This  entrance  is  n't 
open  in  the  evening.  You  have  to  go  to  the  regular 
station,  around  in  the  next  street.' 

"Miss  Kathleen  grabbed  my  hand  and  started 
to  run  the  minute  the  policemen's  club  pointed 
the  direction;  but  just  then  there  came  a  rumble 
and  a  roar,  and  we  stopped  short  and  held  our 
ears  until  the  train  had  passed  over  our  heads. 
Then  Miss  Kathleen  turned  to  Uncle  Fred, 
'What  now?'  she  asked  helplessly. 


(   ( 


C     H     E    T   "         175 

"'Half  an  hour  until  the  next  train/  said  Uncle 
Fred,  pleasantly, 

"'Maybe  there  might  be  an  extra,'  said  Miss 
Kathleen,  and  she  led  the  way  around  to  the 
regular  ticket-office.  A  sleepy-looking  agent  was 
sitting  at  the  window. 

"'When  will  there  be  another  train?'  asked 
Miss  Kathleen. 

"'North  or  south,  lady.?'  asked  the  man, 
yawning. 

" '  Why  —  why  — '  began  Miss  Kathleen,  look- 
ing around  at  us  uncertainly. 

"Uncle  Fred  was  studying  the  girders  over  his 
head. 

"'To  the  city,'  I  whispered. 

"'Why,  yes,  certainly,  to  the  city,  of  course,* 
said  Miss  Kathleen. 

'"Twenty-five  minutes,'  said  the  man. 

"Miss  Kathleen  looked  discouraged.  'Is 
there  any  other  way  to  get  down  town  .f"  she 
asked. 

"'Cottage  Grove  cable,  if  you  walk  four  or 
five  blocks  north,'  pointing  with  his  thumb. 

"'But  there  are  so  many  changes  on  that  line,' 
complained  Miss  Kathleen. 


1/6  "    C     H     E     T   '  ' 

"The  ticket-agent  looked  surprised.  'There 
ain't  no  changes  on  that  line,  lady,'  he  said. 

"Miss  Kathleen  looked  at  him  and  then  at 
Uncle  Fred.  'We  changed  nineteen  times  coming 
out,'  she  said. 

" '  Well,'  said  the  agent,  shrugging  his  shoulders, 
'of  course  you  could  change  at  every  corner  if 
you  wanted  to;  but  there  ain't  no  reason  why  you 
should,  unless  for  exercise.' 

"  Miss  Kathleen  stared  at  him  in  a  dazed  sort 
of  a  way,  and  then  turned  from  the  window. 
'Well,'  she  said,  'I  guess  we'd  better  take  the 
cable.  I  'd  be  rather  afraid  to  get  on  a  regular 
railroad  train  after  all  this.  I  feel  sort  of  foggy, 
and  we  might  land  in  Milwaukee  or  Kalamazoo  — ' 

"'Or  Kankakee,'  suggested  Uncle  Fred. 

"  ' — and  the  cable  certainly  can't  get  us  out 
of  Chicago  without  our  knowing  it,  and  that 's 
something  to  consider.  Bess,  dear,  won't  you  be 
pilot  ?      I  want  to   resign   before  things  get  any 


worse. 


All  right,'  I  said,  and  marched  off  ahead  in 
the  dark,  going  the  way  the  agent  had  pointed. 
I  asked  questions  of  every  policeman  I  saw,  and 
in  just  a  few  minutes  we  came  in  sight  of  a  little 


'  '    C    H     E    T   '  '  177 

brick  office  with  a  blue  cable  train  standing  in 
front  of  it. 

"I  went  up  to  the  conductor.  'Does  this  train 
go  to  Wabash  Avenue  and  Madison  Street?' 
I  asked. 

"'It  surely  does,'  said  he. 

"'Do  we  have  to  change  cars?' 

"'Not  a  change.' - 

"My,  but  I  was  proud!  We  got  on  and  I  sat 
down  in  one  corner  and  went  to  thinking  over 
our  experiences,  just  as  if  I  were  telling  you  about 
it  all,  and  when  I  came  to  the  'Home  for  Incur- 
ables' part,  I  had  some  work  to  do.  I  wish  they  'd 
change  the  name  of  it,  Chet.  Just  think  of  going 
to  live  in  a  place  with  a  name  like  that!  It 's  like 
having  over  the  entrance:  'All  ye  who  enter 
here,  leave  hope  behind.'  I  'm  sure  that  they 
will  see  it  right  some  day,  and  change  the  name  to 
something  cozy  and  hopeful  that  will  make  the 
people  there  feel  a  thrill  of  confidence  in  good, 
every  time  that  they  say  it  or  write  it.  I  went  to 
trying  to  think  up  just  exactly  the  best  name; 
and  then  by  and  by  I  felt  my  head  bumping 
against  the  window-frame  and  Miss  Kathleen 
drew  it  over  onto  her  shoulder,  —  and  then  we 


178  "   C    H     E    T  '  ' 

were  going  up  stairs  to  the  elevated.  Uncle  Fred 
really  does  know  all  about  the  elevated,  so  I 
did  n*t  feel  responsible  any  more,  —  and  by  and 
by  we  were  out  in  the  cool  night  air  again,  and  the 
lake  was  looking  black  before  us,  —  and  then  I 
was  in  my  room  and  Aunt  Fannie  was  helping  me 
undress, —  and  then  it  was  morning. 

"You  said  in  your  letter  that  some  people 
claimed  to  be  healed  by  reading  the  Christian 
Science  text-book,  and  you  said  that  it  was  absurd, 
when  there  was  a  visible  physical  manifestation 
to  show  that  something  was  wrong.  (I  'm  glad 
you  admitted  that  you  hunted  up  those  words 
in  the  dictionary,  for  I  knew  they  did  n't  come 
natural.)  I  suppose  you  think  that  a  case  like 
that  could  n't  be  healed  by  anything  but  medicine, 
—  at  least,  you  think  that  you  think  so.  That  is 
because  both  the  '  manifestation'  and  the  medicine 
are  what  you  call  'real.'  Now  just  suppose  that 
you  were  to  come  in  and  find  me  crying  —  the 
tears  running  down  my  face,  wet,  watery  tears 
that  you  could  see  and  feel;  would  n't  that  be  what 
you  call  a  *  visible  physical  manifestation  showing 
something  is  wrong'  ?  Would  you  rush  off  and 
get  some  medicine  to  put  into  my  stomach  to  stop 


"  C    H     E    T  '  '  179 

the  water  coming  out  of  my  eyes,  —  or  would 
you  get  a  surgeon  to  sew  the  Hds  together  so  they 
could  n't  leak  ?  If  you  did,  you  'd  be  trying  to 
stop  the  effect  without  paying  any  attention  to 
the  real  cause.  (Maybe  you  would  stop  it  for 
a  minute,  by  attracting  my  attention,  but  as  soon 
as  I  stopped  thinking  about  the  new  ideas,  I'd 
begin  to  cry  again.)  But  suppose  that  instead 
of  that,  you  went  to  work  to  find  out  what  the 
trouble  might  be,  and  then  helped  me  out  of  it, 
whatever  it  was;  would  n't  you  stop  the  tears  a 
whole  lot  sooner,  even  if  they  were  real,  wet, 
watery  tears  ?  You  see,  in  some  cases  you'd  do 
exactly  as  we  do;  and  the  only  difference  is  that 
we  know  that  all  seeming  'physical  manifesta- 
tions of  trouble'  have  a  mental  source,  and  we 
do  our  work  upon  that,  the  cause,  instead  of  trying 
to  wrestle  with  the  effect. 

"Now,  if  a  person  is  in  trouble,  the  way  to  stop 
the  tears  is  to  tell  him  something  which  shows 
that  he  has  n't,  really ^  any  cause  for  them; 
that  is,  make  him  understand  that  there  is  n't 
any  such  cause,  and  then  he  can't  cry  if  he  wants 
to;  and  the  way  we  stop  other  'manifestations 
of  trouble,'   called   sickness,   is   by   making  him 


i8o  '  *    C     H     E     T   '  ' 

understand  that  there  is  n't  any  cause  for  that; 
and  then  the  appearance  stops  of  itself.  Don't 
you  see  ? 

"Now  it  does  n't  make  any  difference  whether 
the  person  gets  that  understanding  by  some  one 
telling  him,  or  whether  he  gets  it  out  of  a  book, 
does  it  ?  And  if  he  gets  it  out  of  a  book,  has  n*t 
the  book  healed  him  ? 

"Think  it  over  for  a  while,  Chet,  and  see  if  it 
is  such  an  absurd  idea,  after  all." 


CHAPTER  X 

THE  OTHER  SIDE  OF  THE  COUNTER 

*  I  "'HE  next  piece  of  news  was  when  Dad  told 
me  that  he  had  hired  Uncle  Rob  to  clerk 
in  the  store  for  the  Winter.  I  was  mighty  pleased, 
but  I  knew  that  Uncle  Rob  had  never  clerked 
before,  and  that  he  was  up  against  something 
which  was  going  to  give  him  some  experience 
that  would  make  his  hair  curl,  and  so  I  felt  a 
little  bit  sorry  for  him.  You  see,  our  store  was 
the  kind  that  you  always  find  in  a  town  of  about 
ten  or  twelve  thousand  people,  and  carried  about 
everything  outside  of  dry-goods  and  groceries  and 
hardware.  It  was  a  big  three-story  brick  build- 
ing, and  there  were  pianos,  and  organs,  and  silver- 
ware, and  plush  goods,  and  books,  and  stationery, 
and  pictures,  and  a  picture-framing  department 
upstairs,  and  toys,  and  holiday  stuff,  —  and  five 
million  other  things.  It  takes  some  time  to  learn 
a  stock  like  that.  I  knew  it  pretty  well,  because 
I  'd  been  browsing  around  the  place  ever  since 
I  was  big  enough  to  walk,    and  so  Dad  said  I  'd 

better  go  down  with  Uncle  Rob  the  first  day,  which 

i8i 


i82         "   C    H     E    T   '  ' 

was  Saturday,  so  as  to  show  him  the  ropes.  I 
did  n't  mind  at  all  for  there  were  a  lot  of  new 
goods  just  in,  and  I  wanted  to  see  what  sort  of 
stuff  Dad  had  been  getting. 

Well,  that  morning  we  got  down  at  eight 
o'clock  sharp,  and  I  took  him  behind  the  counter 
right  off  and  began  opening  drawers  and  boxes 
to  show  him  where  things  were.  Dad  was  back 
in  the  office,  and  the  cashier.  Miss  Weed,  was  at 
her  desk.  The  first  person  to  come  in  was  a 
school-teacher.  She  walked  up  to  the  counter 
in  front  of  Uncle  Rob.  "Reward  cards,"  she 
said. 

"Yes,  madam,"  said  Uncle  Rob,  and  led  the 
way  down  the  store  as  if  he  had  been  at  that  sort 
of  thing  all  his  life.  He  remembered  the  shelf  that 
I  had  showed  him,  and  he  took  down  the  stack 
of  big  sheets  that  had  the  sample  cards  pasted 
onto  them,  and  laid  it  on  the  show-case  before 
her.  They  were  pieces  of  white  pasteboard 
about  ten  by  fifteen  inches,  all  the  same  size,  and 
each  had  four  or  five  cards  pasted  on,  showing  one 
of  each  design  in  the  set;  and  at  the  top,  printed 
m  big  letters,  was  the  price  and  the  number  of 
cards  in  the  package. 


(    ( 


C    H     E    T   '  '  183 

The  woman  turned  the  sheets  over  for  a  mo- 
ment.     "I  don't  want  such  big  ones,"  she  said. 

"Here  are  some  that  are  not  so  large,"  said 
Uncle  Rob,  drawing  out  a  sample  of  smaller  ones. 

The  woman  looked  at  them.  "Those  are  too 
big,"  she  said. 

Uncle  Rob  turned  over  the  pile  and  brought  out 
some  about  two  inches  square. 

The  woman  scowled.  "They  're  too  big,  I 
say,"  she  said. 

Uncle  Rob  looked  at  her  and  then  at  me. 
"Have  you  any  smaller  ones.'"'  he  asked  me. 
I  shook  my  head.  I  wanted  to  suggest  that  she 
get  the  kids  postage  stamps;  but  I  did  n't 
dare. 

"We  have  no  smaller  ones,"  said  Uncle  Rob. 

The  woman  scowled  again.  "What 's  in  those 
boxes?"  she  said,  pointing  to  the  stock,  up  in 
the  shelves. 

"Those  are  the  same  cards  which  you  have 
here,"  said  Uncle  Rob,  laying  his  hand  on  the 
pile  of  samples. 

The  woman  looked  at  the  samples  and  then 
back  at  the  boxes,  and  her  eyes  got  narrow.  She 
held  up  one  of  the  sheets.      "Do  you  mean  to 


i84  *  *    C     H     E     T   '  ' 

tell  me,"  she  said,  "that  these  cards  are  in  those 
boxes  up  there  ?" 

"Yes,  madam,"  said  Uncle  Rob,  looking  be- 
wildered. 

The  woman  began  to  get  excited.  She  held 
up  the  sheet  in  both  hands  and  fairly  shoved  it 
into  Uncle  Rob's  face.  "You  tell  me  that  a  card 
the  size  of  that,  is  in  one  of  those  little  boxes  — " 

"Yes,  madam,  —  "  and  then  suddenly  Uncle 
Rob  saw  the  point.  "Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon!" 
he  said,  "You  have  there  just  the  sample  sheet, 
you  know.  This  is  the  size  of  the  card,"  and  he 
drew  his  pencil  around  the  outline  of  one  of  the 
cards  on  the  sheet. 

"It  is  ^     Well,  why  did  n't  you  say  so .'"' 

Uncle  Rob  did  n't  reply,  but  spread  out  the 
sheets  on  the  show-case. 

"How  much   are  these  .^"     asked   the  woman. 

"Fifteen  cents  a  package,"  said  Uncle  Rob. 
"The  price  is  right  here  at  the  top  of  all  of  them," 
and  he  put  his  pencil  on  the  figures. 

"How  many  in  a  package  .^" 

"Ten,"  and  his  pencil  followed  to  the  figures. 

The  woman  pushed  the  sheet  aside  and  picked 
up  another.     "How  much  are  these.?" 


'  *    C    H     E    T   '  '  185 

"Twenty-five  cents  a  package,"  and  his  pencil 
pointed  to  the  printed  price  again. 

"How  many  in  a  package  ?'* 

"Ten." 

"Are  there  ten  in  all  the  packages?" 

"I  believe  so." 

"How  much  are  these?" 

"Fifteen  cents." 

"How  many  in  a  package  ?" 

"Ten,"  said  Uncle  Rob. 

"And  these?"  She  was  holding  it  with  her 
thumb  over  the  price. 

"I  —  I  can't  see,"  said  Uncle  Rob,  reaching 
out  his  hand  for  the  sheet. 

"Don't  you  know  the  price  of  your  goods?" 

Uncle  Rob  bit  his  lip,  then  he  smiled.  "Not 
always,  without  looking  at  the  mark,"  he  said. 

The  woman  sniffed,  then  she  shifted  her 
thumb. 

"Ten  cents,"  said  Uncle  Rob. 

"How  many  in  a  package  ?" 

Her  thumb  was  over  the  other  figures  by  this 
time,  and  so  Uncle  Rob  made  a  guess.  "Ten," 
he  said. 

"Well,   I  '11   take   a   package   of  those."      She 


i86         '  '   C    H     E     T 


»  J 


laid  down  the  sheet,  and  there,  where  her  thumb 
had  been  was  the  figure  "8."     I  snickered. 

Uncle  Rob  pressed  his  lips  together  for  a  mo- 
ment, then:  "I  beg  your  pardon,  madam,"  he 
said,  "there  are  only  eight  in  this  package." 

"You  said  ten."  The  woman  looked  at  him 
as  if  she  had  caught  him  trying  to  cheat  her. 

"I   was   mistaken,"   said   Uncle   Rob,   quietly. 

She  threw  the  sheet  aside  and  looked  some 
more.  By  and  by  she  picked  up  another,  "Let 
me  see  some  of  these,"  she  said. 

Uncle  Rob  hesitated.  "How  many  packages 
do  you  wish  .?"   he  asked  pleasantly. 

"I  said  I  wanted  to  see  them,"  said  the  woman. 

"There  is  a  sample  of  each  card,  on  the  sheet," 
said  Uncle  Rob.  You  see,  I  had  told  him  not 
to  get  out  the  cards  themselves,  except  to  sell  them, 
because  that  was  the  rule. 

The  woman  glared  at  him.  "I  say  I  want  to 
see  them,"  she  said. 

Uncle  Rob  glanced  at  me  helplessly,  and  then 
turned  to  the  shelves  and  found  the  box  and 
laid  one  of  the  packages  before  her.  She  took  it, 
broke  the  paper  band,  and  spread  the  cards  out 
among  the  samples,  then  she  shoved  them  aside 


*  *   C    H     E    T  '  '         187 

and  picked  up  another  sample  sheet.  "Let  me 
see  these,"  she  said. 

"They  are  all  there  on  the  sheet,  madam," 
said  Uncle  Rob;  "See,  here  is  one  card  like  each 
one  in  the  package." 

The  woman  set  her  lips.  "  I  say  I  want  to  see 
the  package." 

Uncle  Rob  looked  at  me  again,  and  then  turned 
and  found  the  box  and  handed  her  a  package. 
She  scattered  that,  like  the  other,  and  then  said, 
"Let  me  see  some  of  these." 

Uncle  Rob  did  n't  say  a  word;  he  just  meekly 
turned  around  and  took  down  the  box.  She  took 
out  one  package  and  scattered  the  cards,  and  then 
another,  and  then  asked  to  see  some  more. 

Uncle  Rob  had  got  beyond  saying  a  thing;  — 
he  just  looked  sort  of  dazed,  and  for  half  an  hour 
he  stood  there  and  handed  her  out  packages  of 
reward  cards;  and  then  she  picked  up  her  purse 
and  shopping  bag.  "I  may  be  in  again  this 
afternoon,"  she  said;  "I  want  to  see  what  they  've 
got  at  Wagner's  and  at  Martin's,"  and  she  walked 
off  down  the  store. 

Uncle  Rob  watched  her  out  of  the  door,  and 
then  looked  down  at  the  stack  of  cards  and  sample 


i88  *  ^    C     H     E    T   '  ' 

sheets  on  the  counter;  then  he  looked  at  me  and 
wabbled  back  against  the  shelving.  "Chet,"  he 
said,  putting  up  his  hands  as  if  to  ward  off  some- 
thing, "Chet,  she  says  she  's  coming  back!  Is 
there  a  place  under  any  of  these  counters  where  I 
can  duck  in  a  hurry?"  Then  he  pointed  at  the 
counter;  —  "Is  that  why  you  said  not  to  get  out 
the  packages  ?" 

"Yep,"  I  said. 

He  nodded  his  head.  "Chester,"  he  said, 
"it  is  a  very  wise  rule;  but  the  lady  had  a  very 
compelling  way  with  her,  did  you  happen  to 
notice  that .?  It  would  almost  seem  as  if  she  got 
the  better  of  me,  would  n't  it  ?" 

"  It  pretty  near  would,"  I  said. 

"I  want  to  tell  you,  though,  Chester,  that  I  am 
very  happy;  —  I  don't  know  when  I  have  been 
happier,  —  I  was  happy  all  the  time  she  was  here." 

"You  managed  to  hide  it  fairly  well,"  I  said. 

"Deceitful  appearances,  my  dear  Chester.  My 
joy  and  self-gratulation  in  that  I  don't  have  to 
go  to  school  to  her,  nearly  overwhelmed  me." 

"You  looked  overwhelmed  all  right  enough," 
I  said. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "I  should  dislike  to  go  to  school 


(  ( 


C    H     E    T   '  '  189 


to  a  woman  like  that,  —  I  should  have  such  a  hard 
time  reforming  her." 

Uncle  Rob  was  sorting  out  the  cards  and  putting 
new  bands  on  the  packages,  and  matching  them 
with  the  samples  so  as  to  get  them  into  the  right 
boxes,  when  Dad  came  along.  He  stopped  and 
looked  at  the  pile.  "Chester,"  he  said,  "you 
ought  to  have  told  Robert  that  it  was  n't  necessary 
to  get  out  the  cards;  because  they  are  all  on  the 
sample  sheets.  See,  Robert,  there  is  one  card  of 
each  pattern,  on  a  sheet,  and  the  price,  and  number 
in  a  package,  is  printed  right  there  at  the  top." 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  Uncle  Rob,  meekly,  and  Dad 
passed  on. 

Just  then  an  old  farmer  came  in  and  walked 
up  to  the  counter.  "I  want  a  horse  book,"  he 
said. 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  Uncle  Rob,  and  started  down 
the  store.  As  he  passed  me  he  whispered;  "What 
the  dickens  is  a  horse  book?" 

"A  book  about  raising  horses,"  I  answered. 
"They're  back  there  with  the  dialogue  books 
and  short  cuts  to  arithmetic." 

He  got  it  all  right,  and  sold  it  without  any 
trouble,  and  left  the  cash-desk  just  as  a  man  came 


I90         '  *    C     H     E     T   '  ' 

up  and  asked  for  a  mortgage.  He  'd  left  a  farm 
wagon  at  the  curb. 

Uncle  Rob  looked  doubtful.  "A  —  a  mortgage 
on  what .?" 

"Why,  just  a  mortgage,"  said  the  man. 

"  He-wants-a-blank-form,"  said  the  cashier, — 
she  always  talks  very  fast  and  runs  her  words 
together,  —  "In-the-upper-drawer-there-with-the- 
legal-blanks." 

Uncle  Rob  pulled  open  the  drawer  and  began 
laying  out  the  packages  of  forms.  By  and  by  he 
came  to  the  package  marked  "Mortgages,''  and 
was  just  taking  one  out,  when  the  cashier  craned 
her  neck  to  look  at  the  label  and  then  said  to  the 
man ;   "  Did-you-want-it-with-or-without-dower  ? " 

The  man  stared  at  her.  "  Well  —  I  —  "  he 
began. 

" Give-it-to-him-with-and-then-if-he-does  n't- 
want-it-he-can-scratch-it-out." 

"Well  —  I  —  "  began  the  man  again;  but  the 
cashier  pointed  to  one  of  the  packages. 

"That's-it." 

Uncle  Rob  took  out  the  blank  and  rolled  it  in 
paper,  and  the  man  paid  for  it  hesitatingly,  and 
went  away. 


(   ( 


C    H     E    T  "         191 

Five  minutes  after,  while  Uncle  Rob  was  help- 
ing one  of  the  high-school  girls  to  choose  a  novel, 
in  came  the  man  again,  out  of  breath  and  his  face 
red.  "This  ain't  right,"  he  said,  holding  out  the 
roll. 

Uncle  Rob  saw  that  it  had  n't  been  undone; 
for  he  recognized  his  style  of  wrapping.  "  What 's 
the  matter  with  it.?"   he  asked. 

"'T  ain't  right,"  said  the  man.  "The  lady  over 
there,"  and  he  pointed  the  roll  at  the  cashier, 
"said  something  about  a  widder  without  dower, 
and  there  ain't  no  widder  in  the  deal." 

The  cashier's  jaw  dropped.  "I  —  I  —  "  she 
began;   but  I  was  at  her  elbow. 

"*With-or-without-dower,'  —  'widder  without 
dower,'"  I  mimicked.  Down  went  her  head  onto 
the  desk,  and  I  stuffed  my  handkerchief  into  my 
mouth. 

Uncle  Rob  saw  the  point  right  off,  and  I  never 
in  my  life  saw  any  one  make  such  a  heroic  effort 
not  to  laugh.  I  thought  for  a  moment  that  it 
would  come  out  in  spite  of  all  he  could  do;  but 
I  hoped  it  would  n't;  for  the  man  was  so  uncom- 
fortable already.  Uncle  Rob  closed  his  eyes  for 
just   a   second,  —  it  was  n't   more   than   a   mere 


192         '  '    C     H     E    T   '  ' 

blink,  and  then  he  held  out  his  hand  for  the  pack- 
*age  and  smiled  just  as  naturally  as  could  be. 
"I'm  sorry  I  made  a  mistake,"  he  said,  "I'll 
fix  it,"  and  he  went  back  to  the  drawer  and  got 
out  another  form  just  like  the  one  in  the  roll,  and 
wrapped  it  up  and  handed  it  to  him.  "You'll 
find  that  one  is  all  right,"  he  said,  "I  'm  sorry 
you  had  to  come  back." 

The  flushed  look  went  out  of  the  man's  face  and 
he  began  to  breathe  easier.  "Oh,  that's  all 
right,"  he  said;  "I  didn't  mind  coming  back; 
but  of  course  I  did  n't  want  the  wrong  thing." 

"  Of  course  not,"  said  Uncle  Rob,  and  the  man 
went  out  of  the  door,  satisfied. 

After  the  high-school  girl  was  gone,  a  lot  of 
college  students  came  in,  and  Uncle  Rob  got  their 
books  for  them  without  any  trouble,  except  when 
one  of  them  asked  for  a  call-book,  and  he  handed 
out  a  book  on  etiquette  instead  of  on  quadrille 
figures;  —  but  the  other  fellow  got  laughed  at 
worse  than  Uncle  Rob  did;  —  and  then  Mr. 
Wright  came  in. 

Mr.  Wright  is  an  old  man  who  has  a  little  store 
on  the  other  side  of  the  river,  and  he  comes  in 
^very  Saturday,  with  a  basket  on  his  arm,  to  stock 


(   ( 


C    H     E    T   '  '  193 

up,  and  he  always  has  to  have  Dad  wait  on  him. 
As  soon  as  I  saw  him  coming,  I  skipped  back  to 
the  office  for  Dad,  and  found  him  talking  violins 
with  Judge  Shelby.  Dad  does  n't  know  anything 
about  violins,  and  Judge  Shelby  does,  and  so  they 
certainly  do  have  great  arguments.  Dad  has  n't 
any  sense  of  humor,  anyway. 

Well,  that  day,  when  I  saw  Judge  Shelby  there, 
I  knew  it  was  going  to  be  a  long  pull  and  a  strong 
pull  to  get  Dad  out  to  look  after  Mr.  Wright.  I 
told  him  who  was  there,  though,  and  he  said,  "Yes, 
in  a  minute,"  and  I  went  back. 

In  ten  minutes  Mr.  Wright  began  to  get  nervous, 
and  I  went  again  and  said :  —  "  Dad,  Mr.  Wright 
is  in  a  hurry." 

"Yes,  in  a  minute,"  said  Dad,  —  and  was  deep 
in  the  argument  again. 

I  went  out,  and  Uncle  Rob  and  I  tried  to  interest 
the  old  gentleman  for  another  ten  minutes,  — 
then  I  went  to  the  office  again. 

"Yes,  in  a  minute,"  said  Dad,  not  changing  his 
voice  from  the  level  of  his  argument  with  Judge 
Shelby. 

I  went  and  asked  Mr.  Wright  if  I  could  n't 
show  him  some  of  the  things  he  wanted,  because 


194  '  '    C     H     E    T   '  ' 

Dad  was  "busy."  He  did  n't  like  it  much;  but 
said  he  wanted  to  see  some  pop-guns. 

I  took  him  back  to  the  toy  section  and  got  out 
some  long,  striped  wooden  ones  with  a  cork  in 
one  end  and  a  sort  of  a  piston  in  the  other.  He 
said  those  would  do  all  right;  but  of  course  I 
did  n't  know  the  trade-price  on  them,  and  so  I 
went  to  the  office  with  one. 

Dad  was  deeper  than  ever  in  the  argument. 
I  held  up  the  pop-gun  and  said :  —  "  How  much, 
to  Mr.  Wright.?" 

Dad  did  n't  stop  talking  to  Judge  Shelby;  but 
he  reached  out  and  took  the  gun,  and  pulled  the 
cork  out  and  looked  into  the  hole,  and  then  put  it 
back,  shoved  the  stick  up  and  down  a  few  times, 
and  then  handed  it  back  and  went  on  talking  to 
Judge  Shelby. 

I  stood  and  waited  for  a  while,  and  then  I 
heard  Mr.  Wright  shuffling  outside  of  the  door, 
and  I  held  it  out  again :  —  "  Mr.  Wright  wants  to 
know  how  much  for  a  dozen." 

Dad  took  it  again,  stopped  talking,  and  turned 
it  over  and  over  in  his  hand  and  tried  the  stick 
again.  "Yes,"  he  said,  "a  violin  may  have  a 
good  tone,  Judge  Shelby,  even  if  the  neck  is  n't  —  " 


'  *    C    H     E    T   '  '  195 

"Dad,"  I  said,  "Mr.  Wright  wants  to  know  how 
much  those  pop-guns  are." 

Dad  stopped  and  looked  at  me  and  at  the  pop- 
gun, and  then  he  began  to  get  to  his  feet.  Mr. 
Wright  and  Uncle  Rob  had  gradually  worked  over 
to  the  office  and  were  standing  just  outside  of  the 
door.  "Yes,"  went  on  Dad,  "a  neck  like  that 
does  n't  hinder  the  tone;  but  it  won't  hold,  —  the 
strings  will  always  be  running  down."  He  was  get- 
ting toward  the  door,  with  the  pop-gun  in  his  hand, 
and  his  voice  grew  bigger  and  more  emphatic  as 
he  came  to  the  wind-up;  "  I  tell  you.  Judge  Shelby* 
a  thing  like  that  will  never,  never  be  a  success!" 
He  reached  the  door  and  finished  his  opinion  at 
the  same  moment;  and  then  he  sort  of  waked 
up,  and  almost  ran  over  Mr.  Wright;  and  then 
his  business  smile  suddenly  came  into  his  face, 
and  he  held  out  Ms  hand. 

"Good-morning,  Mr.  Pop-gun,"  he  said. 

And  then  Uncle  Rob  and  I  disgraced  ourselves. 
I  dived  into  the  office,  and  Uncle  Rob  followed, 
and  Dad  looked  after  us  with  surprise  and  dis- 
approval, and  then  turned  to  the  old  gentleman: — • 
"I  beg  your  pardon,  I  should  have  said  Mr. 
Wright,"  —  and  neither  he  nor  Mr.  Wright  nor 


196  '  '    C     H     E     T   '  ' 

Judge  Shelby,  so  much  as  cracked  a  smile.  And 
afterwards,  when  he  was  calling  me  down  for 
laughing,  and  I  kept  on  giggling  every  time  I 
thought  of  it,  he  said;  "Well,  /  don't  see  anything 
funny  about  that,  I  merely  misspoke,  that  was 
all."     I  told  you  he  had  no  sense  of  humor. 

By  and  by  Dad  went  to  dinner,  and  Uncle  Rob 
and  I  waited  for  him  to  come  back  before  going 
to  ours.  The  cashier  got  back  first,  and  just  behind 
her,  came  an  old  lady.  The  old  lady  went  up  to 
Uncle  Rob,  and  he  said,"  Yes,  madam," and  turned 
around  and  went  to  looking  in  one  of  the  shelves  of 
books.  He  looked  and  looked,  and  by  and  by  I 
said  to  the  cashier,  "What  do  you  suppose  he  's 
looking  for  among  those  dialogue  books  and 
things  ?" 

"I-d'know,"  she  said. 

Uncle  Rob  kept  on  looking,  and  then  after  a 
while  he  seemed  to  get  discouraged,  and  he  came 
over  to  where  we  were.  "Where  do  you  keep 
the  hen  books  ?"  he    asked. 

"The  wh-what?"  I  asked. 

"The  hen  books,"  he  said,  confidently. 

"Well,  what 's  a  hen  book  ?"   said  I. 

**Why,   I   suppose   it's   a   book   about   raising 


'  '   C    H     E    T   '  '         197 

hens.  You  said  a  horse  book  was  one  about  rais- 
ing horses." 

"We  have  n't  got  any,"  I  said. 

The  cashier  got  down  from  her  stool  and  walked 
over  behind  the  show-case  where  the  old  lady  was 
standing,  and  Uncle  Rob  and  I  sidled  over  near 
them.  The  cashier  is  awfully  little,  not  so  tall 
as  Bess,  and  her  shoulders  were  hardly  on  a  level 
with  the  top  of  the  show-case;  but  she  smiled  up 
at  the  old  lady.  "What-was-it-you-wanted  .f'" 
she  asked. 

"A  hemn  book,  —  Gospel  Hemns  and  Sacred 
Songs." 

Uncle  Rob  and  I  ducked  into  the  office  again. 
"A  hen  book!"  I  gasped,  holding  my  sides  and 
rocking  in  the  desk-chair. 

Uncle  Rob  clasped  his  hands  and  rolled  his 
eyes.  "Ye  gods!  Suppose  I  'd  handed  her  a 
book  on  chicken  farming!" 

The  cashier  wrapped  up  the  book  and  when  the 
old  lady  had  gone  out,  she  went  back  to  put  away 
the  stock  that  was  left  out;  and  just  then  a  young 
man  came  in.  We  could  see  him  through  the 
glass  partition  of  the  office;  but  we  did  n't  dare 
to  go  out  just  then,  because  we  had  n't  got  through 


198         *  '    C    H     E    T   " 

laughing.  The  man  wore  eye-glasses  and  looked 
like  a  drummer,  and  he  walked  up  to  the  show- 
case where  Miss  Weed  was  gathering  up  the  books, 
and  smiled  down  at  her,  in  such  a  pleased  way. 

"Is  your  papa  in,  dear.?"    he  asked. 

Miss  Weed  sort  of  gasped  and  looked  up  at 
him,  and  then  a  funny  little  shine  came  into  her 
eyes,     "  No,  sir,"  she  said,  kind  of  shyly. 

"And  are  you  waiting  on  customers  all  by  your- 
self.?"  he  asked  in  over-afFected  astonishment. 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  Miss  Weed. 

"My,  my!  —  and  how  old  are  you  ?" 

"Twenty-seven,  sir,"  said  Miss  Weed,  in  her 
natural  voice. 

The  man's  mouth  positively  fell  open.  "I  — 
I  beg  your  pardon.  Miss,  —  I  certainly  do  —  I 
had  no  idea  —  "  and  just  then  Dad  hove  in  sight, 
and  we  grabbed  our  hats  and  made  for  the  open 
air. 

After  dinner  things  went  along  quite  smoothly; 
only  they  did  get  one  joke  on  me.  Dad  was  up- 
stairs taking  an  order  for  some  picture  frames, 
when  a  tall  German  came  in  and  asked  for  him. 
I  said  that  he  would  be  down  in  a  few  minutes,  and 
so  the  man  decided  to  wait,  and  began  strolling 


*  *   C    H     E    T  '  '  199 

about  the  store  and  looking  at  things.  He  'd  been 
in  before,  and  knew  who  I  was,  and  in  a  little 
while  he  came  over  to  where  I  was  standing,  by 
the  cashier's  desk,  and  asked,  in  a  business-like 
tone :  —  "  Haf  you  any  brooders  ?*' 

"Any  what?"    I  said. 

"  Brooders,  —  haf  you  any  brooders  ?" 

I  was  quite  sure  that  I  was  n't  understanding 
him,  and  so  I  turned  to  Miss  Weed.  "  Have  we  .?" 
I  asked. 

"What  is  it.?"    asked  Miss  Weed. 

I  did  n't  want  to  try  to  say  it,  and  so  I  turned 
to  the  man,  for  him  to  say  it  again. 

He  looked  surprised.  "I  ask  the  young  man  if 
he  haf  any  brooders,"  he  said,  "und  he  ask  you!" 

Miss  Weed  thought  for  a  minute,  and  then  she 
shook  her  head.  "I  don't  know,"  she  said;  "but 
I  don't  think  so." 

I  did  n't  want  to  miss  a  sale  by  not  knowing  the 
stock,  and  so  I  looked  pleasant  and  said,  "I'll 
ask  Dad  when  he  comes  down;  — he  '11  be  here 
in  just  a  minute." 

"Mine  Gott  in  Himmel!"  said  the  man,  pound- 
ing on  the  counter  and  talking  to  the  atmosphere, 
"  I  ask  the  young  man  if  he  haf  any  brooders  — 


200         *  *   C    H     E    T  '  ' 

any  brooders  or  sisters  —  und  he  say  he  not 
know!  —  und  he  ask  the  lady,  und  she  say  she 
not  know!  —  und  den  he  say  he  vill  ask  his  fader, 
ven  he  come!     Mine  Gott!     Mine  Gott!" 

Dad  explained  things  when  he  came  down, 
though.  He  said  that  probably  I  had  not  under- 
stood what  Mr.  Burger  said. 

Uncle  Rob  got  on  finely  all  the  afternoon,  only 
he  kept  on  having  experiences.  Once  an  old 
woman  came  in  and  asked  to  see  some  birthday 
cards.  He  led  the  way  to  the  case  and  spread 
them  out  before  her.  She  looked  for  a  long  time, 
and  by  and  by  she  said, 

"You  see,  my  granddaughter  got  one  here  last 
week,  to  take  to  a  birthday  party,  and  she  lost  it. 
It  cost  fifteen  cents,  —  which  are  your  fifteen- 
cent  ones .?" 

Uncle  Rob  sorted  some  out,  and  she  kept  on 
talking  while  she  looked  them  over:  —  "Yes,  and 
I  told  her  I  'd  come  in  and  get  her  another  one. 
The  party  ain't  till  Monday  night.  Don't  you 
think  this  is  a  right  pretty  one  }" 

"Yes,"  said  Uncle  Rob,  "I  think  that  is  espe- 
cially nice." 

"I  guess  that'll  do,  then.     Will  you  give  me 


"   C    H     E    T   "         20I 

an  envelope  for  it  ?  She  said  the  other  one  had 
an  envelope." 

He  put  it  in  an  envelope  and  then  wrapped 
some  paper  around  it  and  held  it  out  to  her.  She 
took  it  and  said  "Thank  you,"  and  started  for 
the  door. 

"  Well  —  h-m  —  you  —  "  began  Uncle  Rob. 

"What  say  .f*"  said  the  old  lady,  turning  around. 

Uncle  Rob  smiled  cheerfully.  "You  forgot  to 
pay  me  for  it,"  he  said. 

"Pay  you  for  it!"  said  the  old  lady,  looking 
astonished;  "Why,  I  told  you  my  granddaughter 
lost  the  one  she  got." 

"But  did  she  lose  it  here  in  the  store  ?" 

"No,  she  said  it  was  in  her  basket  when  she 
got  into  the  buck-board;  but  the  cover  blowed  off 
on  the  way  home,  and  the  card  must  of  blowed 
out." 

Uncle  Rob  looked  at  her. 

"I  told  her  I  was  sure  you  M  make  it  all  right," 
said  the  old  lady. 

Uncle  Rob  opened  his  mouth  —  and  then  he 
shut  it  again.  "Yes  'm,"  he  said,  at  last,  "that  is 
all  right;  we  're  glad  of  the  opportunity  to  make 
it  up  to  you." 


202         *  '   C    H     E    T   '  ' 

"I  thought  you  would  be,"  and  the  old  lady 
trotted  out  of  the  store. 

Uncle  Rob  reached  into  his  pocket  and  fished 
out  a  nickel  and  a  dime  and  laid  them  on  the 
cash-desk.  "It 's  worth  it,"  he  said;  "I  would  n't 
disturb  her  confidence  for  twice  that;  and  besides, 
I  could  never  have  made  her  understand  in 
a  thousand  years.  Is  every  day  like  this, 
Chet?" 

"No,"  I  said;  "but  Saturday  always  brings  a 
lot  of  this  sort  of  thing,  and  we  've  got  a  little 
more  than  usual  to-day,  that 's  all." 

About  four  o'clock  a  young  woman  came  in. 
Uncle  Rob  had  been  having  good  luck  for  about 
an  hour,  and  had  begun  to  think  that  he  was  the 
real  thing  in  clerks;  and  so  when  she  asked  for 
note  paper,  he  gave  a  glance  at  me,  as  much  as 
to  say:  "Watch  me,"  and  began  taking  down 
boxes.  "Now  here  's  some  in  octavo  size,  sea- 
shell  tint,"  he  said. 

"  It  is  n't  large  enough,"  said  the  young  woman. 

"Well,  here  's  the  same  thing  in  commercial 
size.     This  has  the  long  envelope,  you  see." 

"No,  I  want  it  white,"  said  the  young  woman. 

Out  came  a  box  of  white. 


*  '   C    H     E    T   '  '  203 

"No,"  she  shook  her  head  and  frowned,  "that 
is  n't  the  kind.     I  want  it  striped." 

"Oh!"  said  Uncle  Rob,  and  brought  out  some 
ruled  paper. 

"No,"  she  said,  "that  is  n't  the  kind  either,  — ' 
it 's  larger  than  that." 

"Here's  letter  size,"  said  Uncle  Rob;  "but 
you  said  note  paper." 

"  Well,  that 's  what  I  want,"  said  the  young 
woman;   "have  n't  you  got  any  note  paper  ?" 

Uncle  Rob  looked  at  the  clutter  of  boxes  and 
loose  sheets,  and  than  at  her.  "  Don't  any  of 
these  suit  you,  madam  ?"  he  asked. 

"No,  they  are  n't  what  I  want  at  all,  —  I  want 
it  bigger." 

Uncle  Rob  did  n't  say  a  word;  but  went  to  a 
drawer  and  brought  out  a  sheet  of  foolscap. 

"No,"  she  said,  "  I  told  you  I  wanted  it  striped." 

Uncle  Rob  pointed  to  the  ruling. 

"No,  not  that  kind  of  stripes." 

"Oh!"  suddenly  a  light  broke  over  Uncle 
Rob's  face  and  he  went  back  to  the  drawer 
and  brought  out,  with  an  air  of  triumph,  a  sheet 
of  legal-cap  with  a  red  line  down  the  left-hand 
margin. 


204         '  '    C     H     E     T   '  ' 

But  the  woman  shook  her  head.  "No,"  she 
said,  "that  is  n't  it,  at  all." 

"What  did  you  intend  to  use  it  for.?"  asked 
Uncle  Rob,  patiently. 

"Why,  to  write  notes  on,  of  course.  I  said 
note  paper,  did  n't  I  ^  —  just  ordinary  note  paper!  " 

Uncle  Rob  stood  and  looked  at  her  helplessly, 
and  just  then  Dad  came  along  and  she  saw  him. 
"Oh!"  she  exclaimed,  "here's  Mr.  Williams! 
Mr.  Williams,  I  'm  having  such  a  time!  I  came 
in  to  get  some  note  paper,  —  I  'm  copying  some 
music,  you  know,  —  and  your  clerk  does  n't  seem 
to  know  anything  about  it." 

Dad  looked  at  Uncle  Rob  and  at  the  scat- 
tered paper  and  boxes.  "The  music  paper  is  in 
that  drawer  right  behind  you,  Robert,"  he  said; 
"  Could  n't  you  find  it  ?  Chester,  why  did  n't 
you  tell  him  where  it  was  ?" 

I  started  to  speak;  but  Uncle  Rob  gave  me  a 
little  glance,  and  I  shut  up;  and  he  got  out  the 
paper  and  wrapped  it,  and  handed  it  to  her  as 
pleasantly  as  could  be. 

Dad  walked  to  the  door  with  her;  and  we  heard 
her  say:  —  "Thank  you  so  much,  Mr.  Williams. 
It  must  be  an  awful  bother,  breaking  in  new  help." 


*  '   C    H     E    T   "         205 

Dad  was  still  at  the  door  talking  to  her,  when 
Dan  Burns  drove  up  to  the  curb  and  called  some- 
thing to  Dad,  and  Dad  turned  and  called  down 
the  store :  —  "  Robert,  get  Mr.  Burns  —  there  — 
those  right  in  front  of  you,  in  that  case,  —  hurry, 
his  horses  won't  stand,  —  why,  right  there  in  that 
case,  can't  you  see  ?  —  Why,  it 's  right  under  your 
eyes  —  hurry  —  " 

"  But  what  —  ?  "  Uncle  Rob  had  the  case  open 
and  was  groping  wildly  among  fifty  different 
things  from  fish-hooks  to  ink  erasers;  and  Dad 
kept  on  calling,  and  never  let  up  for  a  second :  — 

"Hurry,  Robert,  those  horses  won't  stand,  I 
told  you!  Why,  what 's  the  matter,  it 's  right  under 
your  hands!"  and  Dad  came  down  the  store, 
talking  all  the  way.  "  Can't  you  find  it  when  it 's 
right  square  in  front  of  you  ?  Number  sixteen! 
Oh,  never  mind,  I  '11  get  it  myself!"  and  he 
came  'round  behind  the  counter  and  grabbed  a 
box  of  rubber  bands  and  rushed  out  of  the  store 
with  it. 

Uncle  Rob  stood  and  looked  after  him.  "He 
got  it,  didn't  he?"  he  asked,  weakly,  and  just 
then  Dad  came  back  to  the  door  where  the  young 
woman  was  still  standing;  and  she  said  something 


2o6  '  *    C     H     E     T    '  ' 

about  "stupid,"  and  Dad  shook  his  head  in  a  dis- 
couraged way. 

"Right  before  his  eyes,  too!"   he  said. 

Uncle  Rob  put  his  hand  to  his  head.  "I  guess 
that  *s  going  some!  Do  you  suppose  he  thought 
he  'd  told  me  what  he  wanted  .?" 

^*He  didn't  think  at  all,"  I  said.  "He  knew 
what  Burns  wanted,  was  n't  that  enough  ?  Why 
did  n't  you  get  it  for  him  .?" 

Uncle  Rob  shook  his  head.  "  This  is  stren- 
uous!" he  said;  "I  was  a  fairly  tall  man  when  I 
came  down  this  morning;  but  the  next  person 
who  comes  in  will  have  to  stand  on  tiptoe  and 
look  over  the  counter,  and  say:  —  'Is  your  papa 
here,  sonny  ?'" 

Miss  Weed  giggled;  and  Dad  stopped  on  his 
way  back  to  the  office.  "You  boys  had  better 
straighten  things  up  a  little  before  closing  time," 
he  said;  so  we  went  to  work.  Presently  Dad 
came  back  to  check  up  some  business  with  the 
cashier,  and  just  then  a  man  went  past  the  door, 
with  a  gait  like  an  express  train,  then  he  glanced 
in  at  the  window,  wheeled,  and  came  into  the  store 
on  a  dog-trot.  He  came  up  to  the  counter  and 
slammed  down  a  big  bottle. 


I  want  some  Parker's  floor  polish  and  a  pint — ' 


*  '   C    H     E    T  '  '  207 

"I  want  some  Parker's  floor-polish  and  a  pint 
of  linseed  —  " 

Uncle  Rob  interrupted  him.  "We  don't  keep 
floor-polish,"  he  said;    "This  is  a  book  store," 

The  man  glanced  around.  "Oh,  I  thought  it 
was  the  drug  store,"  he  said,  and  grabbed  up  his 
bottle  and  made  for  the  door. 

"There,"  I  said,  "he  's  turned  the  wrong  way!  " 
The  drug  store  is  a  block  below  here;  but  the 
front  is  just  like  ours;  —  that 's  how  he  made  the 
mistake.  Oh,  now  he  's  on  the  right  track,'' 
for  he  came  by  again,  going  two  steps  at  a  jump, 
and  the  old  bottle  swinging  ahead  of  him;  then 
suddenly  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  window, 
stopped,  whirled  and  rushed  in  and  up  to  Uncle 
Rob  and  slammed  the  bottle  down  on  the  counter. 

"I  want  some  Parker's  floor-polish  and  a 
pint  —  " 

"We  don't  keep  floor-polish.  This  is  a  book 
store,"  said  Uncle  Rob,  in  exactly  the  same  tone 
that  he  had  used  before. 

The  man  started,  and  looked  at  him,  and  then 
grabbed  the  bottle  and  dashed  out  of  the  store. 

"Guess  he  thinks  the  drug  store  closes  at  six,'* 
said  Uncle  Rob;   and  we  went  to  the  other  side 


2o8  '  '   C    H     E    T  " 

of  the  store  to  take  care  of  some  more  stuff,  and 
Uncle  Rob  was  holding  up  a  cut  glass  carafe, 
when  some  one  darted  into  the  store  and  rushed 
up  to  us,  holding  out  a  bottle;  then  suddenly 
he  noticed  Uncle  Rob's  face,  gave  one  look  around 
and  said, 

"Well,  I  '11—  !"  and  dashed  out  again. 

"What   does  that   man  want?"    called   Dad. 

"  Parker's  floor-polish  and  a  pint  of  linseed  oil," 
said  Uncle  Rob,  cheerfully. 

"Why  don't  you  tell  him  we  don't  keep  floor- 
polish?'" 

"  I  did,"  said  Uncle  Rob;  and  just  then  the  man 
loomed  up  in  the  door-way  again,  halted,  gave  one 
look  around;  and  then  suddenly  the  air  got  blue, 
and  he  dashed  off  down  the  street. 

Dad  went  to  the  door  and  looked  after  him. 
"I  presume  he  thought  this  was  a  drug  store," 
he  said. 


I 


CHAPTER  XI 

UNCLE   ROB   VISITS  MY  BROWN  STUDY 

DID  N'T  see  much  of  Uncle  Rob  for  several 


weeks.  He  was  busy  at  the  store,  and  I  had 
to  study  evenings.  I  had  tried  to  read  some  in  the 
Christian  Science  text-book;  but  I  could  n't  seem 
to  get  the  hang  of  it;  and  besides  I'd  been  having 
a  cold,  and  felt  bum. 

One  Sunday  afternoon  he  came  over  and  sat 
down  on  the  upper  step  of  the  veranda  and  leaned 
back  against  the  pillar,  just  as  he  had  that  first 
evening.      "How's  everything,  Chet?"  he  said. 

I  kicked  against  the  railing. 

"Is  that  the  way  you  feel .'"'    he  asked. 

"It  sure  is,"  I  said. 

"Why  don't  you  take  something  for  it."*" 

"Take  something  for  it!      I  've  done  nothing 

but  fight  ofi^  mustard  plasters  and  flaxseed  tea  and 

hot  lemonade,  for  three  weeks;  —  they  're  shoved 

at  me  every  time  I  put  my  nose  in  the  door;  and 

every  time  I  bark  on  the  street,  somebody  rushes 

up  with  a  new  dose  or  the  makin's  of  one;    or 

^    puts   in   twent)'^-seven   minutes  telling  about  the 

209 


2IO         ''   C    H     E    T   '  ' 

cold  that  his  cousin's  grandmother's  second  hus- 
band died  of.  When  I  saw  you  coming,  I  thought : 
'Well,  here's  one  that  won't  say  "take  some- 
thing," *  —  and  you  start  right  in  with  it,  first 
thing,  just  like  the  rest." 

Uncle  Rob  drummed  his  fingers  on  the  floor 
beside  him.  "  I  was  n't  going  to  suggest  any  of 
those  things,"  he  said. 

"Oh,  no!  Every  one  knows  something  differ- 
ent.    They  're  all  simply  trying  to  rub  it  in." 

"Why  don't  you  give  them  something  in 
return  .?" 

"I  feel  like  giving  them  a  punch!" 

"How  would  it  be  if  you  were  to  give  them  a 
kind  thought,  in  recognition  that  they  are  trying 
to  help  you,  as  well  as  they  know  how  .f"' 

"  Well,  they  are  n't  succeeding,  I  can  tell  them 
that." 

"You  are  sort  of  using  them  in  lieu  of  the 
mustard  plaster  that  you  refused,  are  n't  you  .?" 

"What?" 

"Well,  you  *re  using  them  for  purposes  of  irri- 
tation. It 's  like  a  mustard  plaster  that  has  mus- 
tard on  one  side  and  dry,  soft  flannel  on  the 
other;    one    side    stings   you,  and  the  other  side 


*  *    C    H     E    T   '  '         211 

just  keeps  you  warm,  and  you  can  turn  toward 
you  whichever  you  choose,  and  you  choose  the 
mustard,  not  because  you  think  it  will  do  you 
any  good,   but  because  you  'feel  that  way.'" 

I  did  n't  say  anything  for  a  minute,  and  then, 
—  "  What  were  you  going  to  suggest  for  me  to 
'take'?" 

"A  good  dose  of  common  sense." 

I  kicked  the  railing  again. 

"What  have  you  been  doing  for  that  cold, 
Chet?'* 

"Using  Christian   Science,"   I   said,   doggedly. 

"And  how  is  it  working.?" 

"I  never  had  one  hold  on  so  in  my  life." 

"Tell  me  about  it." 

"There  's  nothing  to  tell.  I  just  made  up  my 
mind  to  try  Christian  Science;  and  I  've  stuck 
to  it.  I  told  myself  that  I  would  n't  take  a  dose 
of  medicine  or  do  one  solitary  thing,  and  I  have  n't. 
The  cold  is  better  now,  for  it  has  just  about  worn 
itself  out,  but  it  pretty  near  wore  me  out  in  the 
process.  I  Ve  got  all  I  want  of  that  sort  of 
'healing.'" 

"So  you  used  Christian  Science,"  said  Uncle 
Rob,  looking  at  me  steadily. 


212 


'  '    C    H     E    T   " 


"I  did.  I  gave  it  a  fair  trial,  —  and  it  did  n't 
work." 

"Did  you  see  your  practitioner  often  ?" 

"  Practitioner  ?  Why,  I  did  n't  have  a  prac- 
titioner." 

"But  you  have  read  the  text-book .?" 

"  Only  a  little,  —  I  can't  understand  it.  No, 
I  just  thought  I  'd  see  what  I  could  do  with 
Christian  Science  myself." 

"Well,  you  say  you  'used  it';  how  did  you  use 
it.?" 

"Why,  I  told  you;  —  I  did  n't  take  any  medi- 
cine or  do  anything." 

"And  was  that  all?" 

"Yes,  only  I  tried  to  think  I  did  n't  have  a  cold." 

"And  you  call  that  using  Christian  Science.?" 

"Yes.     What  do  you  call  it.?" 

"  Well,  if  you  want  my  honest  opinion,  I  should 
call  it  a  perfectly  idiotic  proceeding." 

The  front  legs  of  my  chair  came  down  with  a 
thud.  "Isn't  that  what  you  do?"  I  said;  and 
it  sounded  pointedly  accusing,  the  way  I  said  it. 

"Not  by  a  long  chalk,"  said  Uncle  Rob.    "Now, 

look  here,    Chet,  suppose   you   had   been   living 

,  on  an  entire  meat  diet,  nothing  else  but  meat, 


'  '   C    H    E    T  '  '         213 

mind  you,  and  you  should  decide  to  become 
a  vegetarian,  and  should  begin  by  recognizing 
the  very  important  point  that  you  must  stop  eat- 
ing jneat.  Therefore  you  stop.  Now  suppose 
that,  in  stopping  the  meat,  you  entirely  lost  sight 
of  the  fact  that  a  very  necessary  feature  in  being  a 
vegetarian,  is  that  one  must  eat  vegetables.  You 
did  n't  take  that  into  consideration,  —  you  simply 
stopped  eating  meat;  and  as  you  had  been  eating 
nothing  else,  and  now  substituted  nothing,  you 
ate  nothing  whatever.  You  merely  kept  telling 
yourself  that  vegetarians  declared  that  meat 
was  n*t  necessary,  and  that  they  appeared  to  be 
healthy;  and  you  went  on,  from  day  to  day, 
growing  hungrier  and  hungrier,  and  thinner  and 
thinner,  and  stating  to  all  inquirers  that  you  were 
testing  vegetarianism  to  see  what  was  in  it.  It 
would  n't  take  you  very  long  to  come  to  the  con- 
clusion that  vegetarianism  was  n't  practicable,  — 
that  you,  at  least,  could  n't  get  along  without 
meat;  and  you  would  tell  your  friends  that  you 
had  tested  the  theory  to  your  sorrow,  that  there 
was  nothing  in  it;  and  then  you  would  return  to 
your  meat  diet,  sadder  and  not  much  wiser,  but 
perfectly  sure  that  vegetarianism  is  a   mistake,  ^ 


214         *  '    C    H     E    T   '  ' 

for  you  are  convinced  that  you  would  have  starved 
to  death  if  you  had  kept  it  up. 

"Now,  would  that  be  giving  the  vegetarian 
theory  a  fair  show  ?  Would  n't  you  really  be 
slandering  it,  and  misleading  those  who  did  n't 
understand  exactly  your  method   of  testing  it  ? " 

"You're  right,"  I  said. 

"And  is  n't  that  exactly  the  sort  of  a  test  that 
you   have   just   given    Christian    Science .?      The 
foundation   of  your   treatment   was   negative,  — 
not  to   take    medicine.      A   continuous    negative 
never  yet  brought  a  positive  result,   its    ultimate 
is  nothing.     Your  foundation  must  be  positive, 
an  accepted  fact;   and  your  method  must  contain 
more  positives  than  negatives,  —  more  knowledge 
of  truth   than    denial   of  error,  —  if  you   would 
realize  a  positive   result.      Suppose  you  learned 
a  multiplication  table  like  this :  — 
Five  times  one  are  n't  seven, 
Five  times  two  are  n't  sixteen. 
Five  times  three  are  n't  ninety-nine, 
What  sort  of  good  would  you  get  out  of  that, 
even  if  you  kept  at  it  until  doomsday,  and  rang 
in  twenty-seven   million   variations .?      That   you 
took  no  medicine  no  more  argued  that  you  were 


"   C    H     E    T   '  '         215 

using  Christian  Science  than  that  you  were  using 
osteopathy  or  voodoo  practices.  What  sort  of  a 
trial  do  you  think  you  gave  it,  anyhow?" 

I  tipped  my  chair  back  again.  "It  looks  to 
me,"  I  said,  "as  if  you  had  eliminated  Christian 
Science  from  my  case." 

"There  was  n*t  any  to  eliminate,"  said  Uncle 
Rob.  "And  I  suppose  you  've  been  telling  every- 
body that  you  've  been  using  it  all  this  time,  — 
and  then  coughing  for  them!" 

"Pretty  near  that,  —  I  've  been  so  mad  about 
it  for  the  last  few  days." 

"  Well,  then,  it 's  up  to  you  to  set  them  straight. 
You  've  no  more  business  to  let  any  one  keep  on 
thinking  that,  —  any  one  that  you  've  told,  — 
than  as  if  it  were  some  person  that  you  had  told 
something  untrue  about;  because  you  were  mis- 
taken." 

"But  what  am  I  to  say?" 

"  Say  whatever  common  sense  and  your  idea  of 
fairness  dictate.  If  you  want  to  square  an  injury 
that  you  have  done,  you  can  always  find  a  way 
to  do  it." 

Of  course  I  had  n't  any  argument;  for  he  had 
me  dead  to  rights.     "All  O.  K.,"  I  said.     "I  'U 


2i6         "   C    H     E    T   " 

square  it.  And  now  I  suppose  I  '11  have  to  give 
the  thing  a  real  trial  some  time." 

"That's  for  you  to  decide,"  said  Uncle  Rob. 

"No,  it  isn't,"  I  said.  "You've  spoiled  the 
one  that  I  w^as  tying  to,  by  show^ing  that  it  was  n't 
one  at  all;  and  I  've  simply  got  to  get  my  bearings 
on  the  subject;  because  it  will  sit  on  the  edge  of 
the  shelf  in  my  brown  study,  and  make  eyes  at 
me,  until  I  have  got  it  ticketed  or  pitched  it  out. 
Here  *s  one  thing  I  can't  understand,  though,  — 
if  the  healing  comes  from  God,  why  is  n't  it  free  .? 
I  don't  see  how  the  practitioners  can  think  it 's 
right  to  charge  for  it." 

"Well,  I  '11  tell  you  one  reason,"  said  Uncle 
Rob.  "It  happens  that  the  practitioners  have  n't 
yet  outgrown  the  necessity  of  eating  food  and 
wearing  clothes  and  having  roofs  over  their  heads ! 
When  a  person  gives  up  whatever  work  he  is  doing 
to  earn  a  living,  and  takes  up  the  study  and  prac- 
tice of  Christian  Science,  can  you  tell  me  how  he 
is  going  to  get  food  and  clothing  and  pay  his  rent, 
if  he  does  n't  charge  anything  for  the  time  he 
gives  to  his  patients  ?"  - 

I  surely  could  n't. 

"No  one  thinks  that  a   minister  or  a  doctor 


'  '   C    H     E    T   '  '         217 

ought  to  give  his  time  and  his  work  for  nothing. 
If  you  can  make  any  suggestions  as  to  how  the 
practitioners  can  give  all  of  their  time,  free  of 
charge,  and  still  be  fed  and  clothed  and  housed, 
1  *m  mighty  sure  that  they  would  be  glad  to  hear 
from  you  on  the  subject." 

I  laughed.  "You  poke  such  big  holes  in  my 
arguments  that  everything  leaks  out,"  I  said. 

"And  there  's  another  thing,"  went  on  Uncle 
Rob.  "A  gift,  —  as  of  time  and  work  in  this 
case,  —  given  without  charge,  and  accepted  as  a 
righty  not  as  a  favor  (for  that  seems  to  be  your 
argument),  has  little  value.  It  has  cost  no  effort 
—  it  calls  forth  no  gratitude  —  it  makes  little 
impression  —  it  is  a  small  matter.  Then,  if  it 
fail,  there  seems  to  be  little  lost,  and  therefore 
much  of  the  effect  of  the  treatment  is  forfeited 
through  the  indifference  of  the  patient.  His 
apathy  is  a  bar  to  the  good  which  an  active,  recep- 
tive attitude  might  make  an  opening  for.  But 
let  him  feel  that  he  has  something  at  stake,  and 
that  attitude  changes  at  once,  and  he  becomes 
eager  and  interested  and  ready  to  assimilate  what 
is  given  to  him.  Is  n't  it  so  in  everything .?  Don't 
you  suppose  that  the  fellow  who  is  working  his 


2i8  '  '    C     H     E    T   '  ' 

way  through  college,  studies  harder  and  more 
eagerly  than  the  average  student  whose  parents 
are  paying  his  bills  ?  It 's  natural.  To  get  good, 
of  any  kind,  we  have  to  be  alive  to  it;  —  a  limp 
hand  —  or  mental  attitude  —  never  grasps  any- 
thing.    Is  n't  it  so  ?  '* 

"Yes,"  I  said. 

"And  there  's  still  another  point,"  said  Uncle 
Rob;  "if  this  time  and  work  were  given  to  all  who 
came,  without  charge  of  any  kind,  then  the  mere 
curiosity-seeker,  the  searcher  after  new  experi- 
ences, the  chronic  sponge,  the  something-for-noth- 
ing  fellow,  all  of  these  would  so  fill  up  the  time 
of  the  practitioners,  that  the  real  sufferer,  the 
earnest  seeker,  and  the  honest  investigator,  would 
be  crowded  out;  for  there  could  n't  be  enough 
practitioners  found  to  do  the  work." 

Uncle  Rob  waited  for  me  to  say  something, 
but  there  was  n't  anything  more  to  say  about  that, 
and  so  I  kept  quiet.  There  's  one  good  thing 
about  me,  —  when  I  've  slumped  through  in  an 
argument,  I  don't  keep  on  struggling  and  spitting 
up  bubbles  with  nothing  in  'em  but  air!  I  was 
through  with  the  financial  side  of  it. 

I  kicked  the  railing  for  a  while  longer,  then  I 


'  *   C    H     E    T  '  '         219 

pulled  the  text-book  out  of  my  pocket  and  began 
running  my  thumb  back  and  forth  across  the 
edges  of  the  leaves. 

"Well?"  said  Uncle  Rob. 

"Too  dense  for  me,"  I  said. 

"Can't  you  understand  it.'"' 

"No,  —  and  no  one  else  can,  either.'* 

"That's  rather  a  broad  statement,  isn't  it?" 
said  Uncle  Rob.  "  I  know  a  very  large  number  of 
people  v^ho  say  that  they  understand  it." 

"Well,  they  just  say  it  to  make  people  think 
they  know  a  lot;  or  because  they  think  that  if  they 
believe  it,  or  just  swallow  it  and  try  to  think 
they  understand  it,  they  '11  get  health,  wealth,  and 
happiness  in  some  mysterious  sort  of  a  way,  they 
don't  know  how.  I  don't  believe  there  's  anything 
to  understand  in  it;  —  it 's  just  a  jumble  of  ideas 
that  don't  mean  anything;  —  and  it  contradicts 
itself,  and  uses  words  in  a  way  that  you  don't 
expect  to  have  them  used,"  I  don't  know  exactly 
why  it  should  irritate  me  because  other  people 
liked  the  book,  when  I  did  n't  have  to,  if  I  did  n't 
want  to;  —  but  it  did,  just  the  same. 

Uncle  Rob  looked  at  me  soberly.  "Do  you 
really  believe  all  that,  Chester?"    he  asked. 


220         '  *   C    H     E    T   '  ' 

**Yep.  I've  tried  to  read  it,  —  and  it  simply 
can't  be  understood." 

A  funny  little  smile  came  around  the  corners 
of  his  mouth.  "Chester,"  he  said,  "don't  you 
think  that  you  are  just  the  least  bit  inclined  to  be 
egotistical  in  that  statement  of  yours  .?  You  say 
that  you  can't  understand  it,  and  that,  therefore, 
no  one  else  can;  —  and  when  thousands  and  thou- 
sands of  the  most  intellectual  men  and  women  in 
the  world  say  that  they  understand  it,  and  use  it, 
and  that  it  is  as  practical  and  clear  and  demon- 
strable as  mathematics.  You  say  that  because  it 
is  n't  clear  to  youy  they  must  all  be  lying." 

I  felt  my  face  flush. 

"Suppose  that  you  had  read  the  book,  looking 
for  things  you  could  n't  understand,  for  twenty 
years,  and  had  found  plenty  of  them,  would  that 
be  any  sign  that  other  people  who  had  looked  for 
things  that  they  could  understand,  and  utilize,  and 
who  said  they  had  found  them,  must  be  falsifying  .? 
Is  your  intellect  so  colossal  that  what  you  can't 
seem  to  grasp,  must  necessarily  be  a  mere  jumble 
of  words  containing  no  meaning  whatever  }  You 
might  be  generous  enough  to  give  these  other 
people  credit  for  an  ordinary  amount  of  intelli- 


C     H     E    T 


221 


gence  and  honesty;  or  at  least,  you  ought  to  give 
some  time  to  examining  into  the  things  that  they 
are  doing  every  day  to  prove  that  they  do  under- 
stand, before  you  set  them  down  as  liars,  frauds, 
or  superstitious  puppets." 

Uncle  Rob  was  very  much  in  earnest,  and  I 
did  n't  have  anything  to  say,  —  so  I  kicked  the 
railing  again. 

Suddenly  Uncle  Rob  smiled.  "You  make  me 
think,"  he  said,  "of  the  man  who  was  calling  a 
certain  theory  ridiculous,  absurd,  and  without 
foundation.  *But  how  do  you  refute  it?'  asked 
his  friend.  'This  way!'  and  he  kicked  against 
a  great  boulder  by  the  roadside.  He  did  n't 
joggle  or  mar  the  boulder,  —  but  he  hurt  his  toe!" 

I  did  n't  so  much  as  grin. 

"Now  see  here,  Chester,"  he  went  on,  "suppose 
you  take  that  book  and  look  in  it  for  some  things 
that  you  can  understand,  instead  of  looking  for 
trouble.  Everything  that  you  do  understand,  will 
prove  a  clue  to  something  that  you  thought  you 
did  n't;  and  if  you  take  it  that  way,  you  '11  find 
that  as  each  statement  unravels  before  your  eyes, 
it  shows  its  connection  with  some  other  statement 
which  had  seemed  confused;   and  by  and  by  you 


222  '  *    C     H     E     T    '  ' 

will  find  that  the  whole  book  stretches,  a  smooth, 
perfect  skein  before  you,  instead  of  an  unmeaning 
tangle  of  twists  and  snarls,  as  you  seem  to  see  it 
now.  It  is  a  flawless,  continuous  thread,  when  you 
have  made  sufficient  effort  to  grasp  the  right  end, 
and  follow  it  through  its  length.  That  is  what 
other  people  have  done;  —  are  n't  you  capable  of 
doing  it  ?" 

I  ran  the  leaves  of  the  book  through  my  fingers. 
I  knew  that,  in  a  way,  Uncle  Rob  was  right  about 
my  looking  for  trouble;  that  is,  I  did  n't  exactly 
look  for  it,  but  when  I  found  something  that 
seemed  unreasonable  or  contradictory,  I  pounced 
upon  it  and  wished  that  Bess  was  there  so  that  I 
could  show  her  how  absurd  it  was.  I  could  see, 
too,  that  it  was  mighty  conceited  for  me  to  say 
that  nobody  understood  it,  just  because  I  did  n't. 
Someway  I  did  n't  feel  very  proud  of  myself. 

"What's  the  main  difficulty.?"  asked  Uncle 
Rob. 

"  Contradictory." 

"How?" 

"Says  there  is  no  such  thing  as  sickness, — 
and  then  says  how  to  cure  it.  It  can't  consistently 
tell  how  to  cure  it,  when  it  says  there  is  n't  any," 


"   C    H     E    T  '  *         223 

Uncle  Rob  positively  grinned.  "Chet,"  he 
said,  "  suppose  some  fellow  you  know,  should  come 
to  you  and  say:  —  'Gee,  but  I  had  a  bad  night 
last  night!  There  were  purple  dragons  with  pink 
wings  chasing  me  until  daylight!*  and  you  should 
say:  —  'Well,  you  stop  eating  mince  pie  the  last 
thing  before  you  go  to  bed,  and  you  won't  see  any 
more  purple  dragons.     Just  try  it.'  " 

"  Now  suppose  some  one  else  should  come  to  you 
in  a  few  days  and  say:  —  *I  understand  that  you 
believe  that  there  are  really  such  things  as  purple 
dragons  with  pink  wings';  and  when  you  denied 
it,  he  'd  say :  —  *  Well,  did  n't  you  tell  that  other 
fellow  how  to  get  rid  of  them  V  and  you  'd  have 
to  admit  that  you  did;  and  then  he  would  say:  — 
'Well,  then  you  are  contradicting  yourself;  for 
how  could  you,  consistently,  tell  him  how  to  get 
rid  of  them,  if  you  did  n't  believe  that  there  were 
any  to  get  rid  ofV  Now,  what  would  you  say  to 
him  in  a  case  like  that  ?" 

"There  would  n't  be  any  use  in  saying  anything 
to  a  fellow  who  used  his  mind  in  that  sort  of  a  way, 
—  and,"  I  added,  "I  'm  that  fellow." 

Uncle  Rob  laughed.  "  It 's  different  when  you 
get  hold  of  the   right  end,  isn't  it?"   he  said. 


224         *  '    C    H     E    T   '  ' 

"You  were  telling  the  other  man  how  to  cure  a 
bad  dream,  —  and  that 's  what  the  book  tells  us. 
What 's  your  next  difficulty  ?" 

"Well,  the  words  don't  always  mean  what  you 
expect  them  to." 

"  But  does  n't  the  dictionary  support  the  use  of 
them?" 

"Yes,"  I  admitted,  for  I  had  looked  up  words 
that  did  n't  seem  to  '  belong,'  and  found  there 
was  n't  any  mistake. 

"Now  see  here,"  said  Uncle  Rob,  "You've  prob- 
ably noticed  that  this  book  sets  forth  things  that 
are  'different.'  Our  language  has  grown  up  to 
fit  the  uses  of  a  very  material  life;  it  has  grown  out 
of  a  material  sense  of  surroundings;  —  and  so, 
when  these  very  diflPerent  ideas  were  to  be  ex- 
pressed, it  must  have  been  almost  impossible  to 
find  words  to  make  them  clear.  What  sort  of  a 
time  would  a  native  of  the  hottest  part  of  Africa 
have,  in  trying  to  tell  his  tribe,  in  their  own  lan- 
guage, about  a  visit  to  the  polar  regions .''  Don't 
you  think  he  'd  have  to  do  a  lot  of  skirmishing  to 
find  means  of  description  ?  —  and  don't  you  think 
it  would  make  him  'tired'  if  some  of  them  said 


(    i 


H     E    T   '  '  225 

that  he  perverted  words  and  said  things  that  did  n't 
mean  anything  ?" 

I  saw  the  difficulties  and  felt  a  sudden  sympathy 
for  the  fellow  with  the  Greenland  story.  It 
would  n't  be  any  snap,  —  and  then  to  have  the 
people  who  did  n't  have  to  listen  to  him  unless 
they  wanted  to,  kick  about  his  vocabulary, — 
that  certainly  would  be  piling  it  on  pretty  thick! 
I  had  n't  any  remarks  to  make. 

"Anything  more  .f"'   asked  Uncle  Rob. 

"Well,"  I  said,  bound  to  get  as  many  of  my 
mountains  down  to  mole-hills  as  possible,  "there  's 
another  thing  that  puzzles  me.  How  can  God 
be  of  'too  pure  sight  to  behold  evil'  ?  If  He  knows 
everything,  how  can  He  help  knowing  evil .?" 

"  But  that 's  from  the  Bible,"  said  Uncle  Rob. 

"I  know  it,"  I  said;  "but  I  never  thought, 
before,  that  a  person  was  expected  to  believe  it." 

"  I  think  I  '11  tell  you  a  story,"  said  Uncle  Rob. 
"It  isn't  new,  and  I  don't  know  just  where  it 
came  from  originally;  but  it  is  to  the  point.  In 
the  first  place,  though,  you  will  admit  that  evil  is 
lack  of  good,  won't  you  ?" 

"Certainly." 


226         '  *    C    H     E    T   '  ' 

"And  you  can  understand  God  and  Infinite 
Good  as  being  synonymous,  can't  you?" 

"Yes." 

"And  darkness  is  lack  of  light,  is  n't  it  ?" 

"Sure." 

"Well,  here  *s  the  story:  — 

"Once  upon  a  time  there  was  a  deep,  dark 
cave;  and  away  down  in  this  cave,  away  from  the 
light,  there  lay  a  man.  And  he  was  very  miserable. 
And  all  day  —  and  all  day  —  he  lay  there  and 
moaned  and  cried  because  of  the  dreadful  dark- 
ness that  surrounded  him  upon  all  sides.  It  was 
absolute  blackness,  without  a  ray  of  light. 

"And  one  day,  while  he  cried,  the  sun,  shining 
high  up  in  the  heavens,  heard  him  and  called 
down  to  him  and  asked  what  grieved  him  so,  and 
why  he  cried  and  groaned. 

"  *  'T  is  this  terrible  darkness ! '  moaned  the  man. 
*I  am  surrounded  and  engulfed  in  blackness.  It 
is  dreadful,  horrible!' 

"'But,*  said  the  sun,  'what  is  darkness  .f" 

" '  Why,  that  I  cannot  explain  to  you,'  said  the 
man.  'I  have  no  words  to  portray  it  to  you;  but 
it  is  the  most  fearful  thing  in  all  the  world.' 

"'But  what  is  it  like  .? '  asked  the  sun. 


'  *   C    H     E    T   '  '         227 

"The  man  tried  to  describe  it;  but  to  no  pur- 
pose; for  he  had  no  words  which  could  make  the 
glorious,  brilHant  sun,  —  the  very  source  of  light 
—  understand  what  such  a  thing  as  darkness  could 
be,  —  and  so  at  last  he  said, 

Well,  if  you  so  much  wish  to  know  what  this 
dreadful  darkness  is,  come  down  into  my  cave  and 
see  it  for  yourself.  It  will  not  take  you  long  to 
understand  it  then,  I  '11  warrant.  Come  down,  I 
say,  and  see  it  for  yourself.' 

"Now  the  sun  very  much  wished  to  know  what 
this  fearsome  thing  called  darkness,  might  be; 
so  he  came  down  and  went  and  peeped  into  the 
cave  where  lay  the  man;  but  all  that  he  saw  was 
light  —  brilliant,  shining  light,  covering  every- 
thing. 

"'Where  is  your  darkness?'  he  cried  to  the 
man.     '  I  see  none  of  it.' 

"*No,  it  is  gone,'  said  the  man.  'Neither  do 
I  see  it  now.' 

"'But  where  has  it  gone  .?'  asked  the  sun. 

"'Back,  farther  back  into  the  cave,'  said  the 
man. 

"  So  the  sun  went  back  —  and  back  —  into  the 
depths  of  the  cave,  peering  into  all  of  the  chinks 


228         '  '    C     H     E    T   '  ' 

and  crannies,  until  he  came  to  the  hard,  back  wall 
and  could  go  no  farther;  —  but  he  had  found  no 
darkness. 

"'Come,  show  me  your  darkness!'  he  called 
to  the  man.  'Where  is  it }  It  has  had  no  chance 
to  escape.     Where  can  it  be  .f" 

"But  the  man  could  only  shake  his  head.  *I 
cannot  tell  you,'  he  said. 

"And  so  the  sun  went  back  up  into  the  sky,  his 
curiosity  unsatisfied;  for  he  had  found  no  shade 
or  shadow  of  darkness,  not  in  all  his  search." 

I  sat  still.  I  was  n't  kicking  the  railing  now. 
"I  see,'*  I  said,  slowly.  "The  sun  could  never 
see  or  know  darkness,  because  it  stops  being, 
whenever  he  comes." 

"Yes,"  said  Uncle  Rob,  "and  evil  stops  beingy 
wherever  God  is." 

"Yes,"  I  said. 

"And  where  is  God,  Infinite  Mind,  Infinite 
Good,  —  all  the  time  .<"' 

"Everywhere."  Then  I  was  quiet.  I  felt  as 
if  something  big  had  suddenly  come  into  my  life, 
and  I  did  n't  want  to  talk. 

We  sat  there  for  a  long  time,  until  Mother  came 
out  and  asked  if  we  had  gone  to  sleep;   and  then 


*  *   C    H     E    T  '  '  229 

Uncle  Rob  got  up  and  said  he  must  go.  I  walked 
across  the  lawn  with  him. 

"Anything  more,  Chet .?"  he  asked,  as  we  came 
to  the  hedge  between  the  houses. 

"One,"  I  said. 

"What  is  it.?" 

I  was  holding  the  book  tightly  in  my  hands. 
"  Do  you  really  believe  that  this  book  is  inspired  ?" 
I  asked,  in  a  very  low  voice. 

Uncle  Rob  looked  at  me.  "Just  what  do  you 
mean  by  'inspired'.?"  he  asked.  "Tell  me 
exactly  the  sort  of  a  picture  that  the  word  brings 
to  you." 

I  thought  for  a  moment.  "Well,"  I  said,  "I 
supposed  it  meant  that  the  book  was  dictated, 
word  for  word,  to  the  writer,  by  God." 

"And  what  sort  of  a  God  have  you  in  mind  ?" 

I  hesitated.  I  began  to  see  that  my  thinking 
had  been  a  lot  more  inconsistent,  even,  than  I  had 
accused  the  book  of  being;  but  I  answered  hon- 
estly. "Well,"  I  said,  "the  picture  in  my  mind 
was  of  a  great  big  person,  looking  a  good  deal  like 
the  Michael  Angelo  statue  of  Moses,  —  only  im- 
mensely bigger;  and  I  thought  it  meant  that 
he  sat  there  and  said  what  to  write." 


^36  ^  '   C    H     E    T   " 

Uncle  Rob  was  still  looking  at  me.  *'  Chester," 
he  said,  "how  old  are  you  ?" 

"Nearly  fourteen." 

"Well,  you  talk  as  if  you  were  about  six!  Is 
that  really  the  sort  of  a  picture  that  the  word 
'inspired'  brings  to  your  mind;  —  a  man-god, 
dictating  sentences  ?" 

"But  I  didn't  believe  it!" 

"  But  the  idea  of  your  supposing  that  any  one 
believed  it!  No  wonder  you  were  stumped  when 
you  thought  you  saw  so  many  intelligent  people 
apparently  swallowing  that  sort  of  thing!  Now 
listen.  Is  n't  it  stated,  over  and  over  and  over 
again,  that  God  is  Infinite  Mind  and  incorporeal  \ 
Haven't  you  read  it  and  read  it  and  read  it?" 

"Yes." 

"Then  where  on  earth  do  you  get  your  mental 

picture   of  a   God   in   man's   image  1  —  speaking 

to   material   ears  —  in   a   human   voice  —  in   the 

English  language  V^ 

» 
I  could  only  shake  my  head. 

"Well  now  here,  you  have  admitted  that  God 

is   Infinite   Mind;    then   Infinite   Mind   must   be 

Truth.     Can  you  see  it  any  other  way  ?" 

"No." 


*  *   C     H     E    T   '  '  231 

"And  man  expresses,  or  shows  forth  that  Mind. 
Now  if  the  word  '  inspire '  means  '  to  infuse  into,' 
as  the  dictionary  gives  it,  then,  to  be  'inspired 
by  God'  is  to  have  Truth  come  into  one's  con- 
sciousness.    Is  n't  that  clear  .'"' 

"Yes." 

"  Well  then,  to  say  that  book  is  inspired,  is  to  say 
that  Truth  is  expressed,  or  expresses  Itself,  in  the 
book,  and  through  the  author.  Is  there  anything 
weird,  or  mysterious,  or  unbelievable  in  that .?  Is 
there  anything  in  it  to  prevent  the  author  from  con- 
sistently adding  to  the  book,  as  she  grasps  more  and 
more  of  the  facts  in  this  Mind  .?  There  is  nothing 
supernatural;  but  there  is  shown  a  marvellous  clear- 
ness of  understanding  which  allowed  the  author  to 
obtain  this  tremendous  insight  into  the  realities 
of  Life,  the  Life  which  is  God.  It  meant  study 
and  work  greater  than  you  and  I  can  realize;  and 
it  meant  revelation,  —  not  in  any  supernatural 
sense,  but  in  that  because  of  the  author's  under- 
standing, the  truth  was  revealed  through  her,  as 
light  is  revealed  through  a  clear  glass  window,  — 
while  begrimed  ones  only  shut  it  in;  and  the 
Light  which  is  shining  out  through  this  clear 
glass,  is  lighting  the  path  for  us  all.     It  is  n't  that 


232         '  *    C     H     E     T   '  ' 

the  Light  is  kinder  to  the  keeper  of  that  window 
than  to  the  keepers  of  the  begrimed  ones,  but 
only  that  in  this  case  the  soil  of  material  things 
has  been  washed  away,  and  the  glory  beyond  is 
streaming  through." 


CHAPTER  XII 

1944  lUKA  AVENUE 

gOB    STEVENS  walked  part  way  home  from 
school  with  me  the  next  afternoon.      "What 
are  you  taking  algebra  for?"   he  asked,  snapping 
his  thumb  and  finger  against  my  book. 

"Why,  because  I  like  it;  —  and  then  it 's  neces- 
sary for  geometry,  and  that  sort  of  thing.  You 
know  I  'm  going  to  be  a  civil  engineer." 

"Algebra  has  n*t  any  sense  to  it,"  said  Bob. 

"Well,  indeed  it  has,"  I  said.  "If  you  just  use 
your  thinking  apparatus  along  with  it,  it 's  just 
as  plain  and  reasonable  as  can  be." 

Bob  sniffed.  "You  think  it  sounds  big  to  say 
you  're  taking  algebra;  and  of  course  you  have 
to  say  you  understand  it.  I  don't  believe  that  any 
one  understands  it;  —  it 's  just  a  jumble  of  let- 
ters and  figures  that  have  n't  a  speck  of  meaning 
to  them;  —  and  it  says  one  thing  on  one  page,  and 
then  turns  around  and  says  something  exactly 
opposite  on  the  next  one.  I  know,  because  I  've 
read  it;  —  and  it 's  what  some  of  the  other  boys 
say,  too." 

233 


234         '  '    C     H     E     T   '  ' 

"Not  the  boys  who  are  studying  it  and  under- 
stand it." 

"  Some  of  them  are  studying  it,  and  say  it  can't 
be  understood.  They  say  they  did  n't  believe 
there  was  anything  in  it  to  start  on,  and  they 
have  n't  wasted  much  time  on  it." 

"Well,  why  don't  you  ask  some  of  the  boys 
who  have  put  time  on  it .?" 

"Oh,  they  wouldn't  want  to  back  down  and 
admit  that  there  was  nothing  in  it,  after  they  had 
put  in  a  lot  of  work  on  it." 

I  looked  at  Bob  to  find  whether  he  was  in  earn- 
est. I  did  n't  see  how  any  one  could  argue  in 
that  sort  of  a  way.  "  But  you  have  n't  studied  it. 
Bob,"  I  said.  "You  're  not  in  a  position  to  know 
anything  about  it." 

"Well,  I  've  read  enough  of  it,"  said  Bob;  "all 
I  want  to.  Here,"  and  he  reached  for  my  book, 
and  opened  it  just  anywhere;  "here  it  says 
'a  =  10,  b  =  5';  now  how  can  a  letter  equal  a 
figure,  tell  me  that  ?     It 's  all  tommyrot." 

"But  it 's  because  you  don't  understand." 

"And  listen  to  this,"  he  went  on,  "here  on  page 
twenty-seven  it  says  *a  =  240,'  and  here  on  page 
thirty-two  it  says  'a  =  17,'  and  back  there  it  said 


'  '   C    H     E    T  '  '         235 

'a  —  10.'  Now  how  do  you  get  around  a  thing 
like  that  ?  And  it  's  right  here  in  plain  sight  in  the 
same  book;  and  yet  you  say  the  book  has  some 
sense  to  it!  If  it  has,  just  explain  that,  —  unless 
it 's  a  secret  that  only  a  few  are  allowed  to  know," 
and  he  snapped  on  the  book  cover  again. 

I  only  looked  at  him.  How  could  I  explain 
it  to  him  when  he  did  n't  know  the  first  thing  about 
it,  to  begin  with  .'' 

"You  can't,"  he  said,  and  tossed  the  book  back 
to  me.     "  It 's  full  of  things  Hke  that,"  he  added. 

"  But,"  I  said,  "when  you  study  it,  it 's  all  plain, 
and  you  find  that  it  is  n't  contradictory  at  all." 

"Well  then,  why  don't  you  explain  it  ?" 

"  I  could  n't  make  you  understand,  until  you  *ve 
studied  it." 

"Oh!"  said  Bob,  "you  know  such  a  lot  more 
than  I  do,  that  you  can't  reach  down  to  my  level 
to  make  me  understand  .?" 

I  was  never  so  aggravated  at  Boh  before  in  my 
life ;  and  yet  all  the  time  I  had  the  feeling  as  if  all 
this  had  happened  before,  and  I  was  living  it 
over  again;   and  it  made  me  feel  queer. 

Bob  went  on,  "  What 's  the  use  of  me  studying 
a  thing  that  I  can  see  at  a  glance  has  n't  any  rea- 


236         "   C    H    E    T  " 

son  or  sense  to  it,  that  I  can't  understand,  and  that 
nobody  else  does  or  can  ?" 

"  But  think  of  the  teachers,  and  the  mathema- 
ticians, and  the  students  —  " 

"Oh,  they  Hke  to  talk,"  said  Bob,  tossing  his 
head. 

"  Bob  Stevens,  —  "I  began,  —  and  then  sud- 
denly it  came  over  me  what  was  familiar  about  the 
conversation,  and  I  sort  of  gasped. 

"Well.?"   said  Bob. 

I  laughed.  "Think  what  you  want  to  about 
algebra,"  I  said.  "  It 's  none  of  my  affair  what  you 
think,  if  you  are  satisfied.  It  is  n't  up  to  me  to 
make  you  change  your  mind,  if  your  own  ideas 
suit  youy  and  get  you  anywhere." 

Bob  looked  surprised  and  disappointed. 

"And  it  certainly  doesn't  make  any  difference 
to  you,  what  I  think,  so  long  as  I  mind  my  own 
business  and  don't  thrust  my  views  upon  you." 

Bob  scuffed  his  feet  in  the  fallen  leaves.  "  I 
hate  to  see  you  gulled,"  he  said.  "It  makes  me 
mad  to  see  you  waste  your  time  on  something  that 
is  n't  good  for  anything." 

"Don't  you  worry  about  me,"  I  said.  "You 
look  after  Bob  Stevens,  and  I  '11  see  what  I  can  do 


(   ( 


C    H    E    T  '  '         237 

toward  bringing  up  Chester  Williams  right;  — 
he  's  all  I  can  manage  just  at  present,  —  unless 
somebody  really  wants  a  lift  that  I  can  give  him." 

Bob  laughed,  and  the  air  cleared  up  some.  I 
sat  down  on  the  curb  and  pulled  out  my  compasses. 
Mother  had  been  showing  me  something  about 
geometry,  evenings,  so  I  knew  some  little,  easy 
problems.  "Come  on,  Bob,"  I  said,  "and  see 
the  way  my  compasses  work."  He  thought  I  'd 
given  up  the  argument  and  was  trying  to  change 
the  subject,  so  he  came  and  sat  down  beside  me. 

I  got  out  some  paper  and  drew  some  circles 
and  things,  and  he  got  awfully  interested;  and 
then  I  started  in  on  a  little  problem,  but  I  did  n't 
letter  the  lines.  He  's  got  a  mighty  sharp  mind, 
and  he  followed  what  I  was  trying  to  do,  just  as 
easy  as  could  be,  at  first;  but  by  and  by  he  got 
mixed  up  as  to  which  line  I  meant,  and  so  I 
marked  one  of  them  x,  and  another  jy,  and  then 
it  went  easier,  and  he  got  more  and  morie  inter- 
ested. 

Then  I  started  another  and  marked  the  lines 
with  the  same  letters,  and  we  worked  that  one  out. 

"Gee!"  he  said,  "I'd  like  a  set  like  that. 
Let 's  see  if  I  can  work  one  of  those  puzzles." 


238  '  '   C    H     E    T  '  ' 

I  gave  him  the  figures  and  he  worked  it  out 
fine,  and  when  he  got  through,  he  said,  putting 
his  pencil  on  a  line,  "x  equals  78." 

"Sure  that 's  right  ?"    I  asked. 

"Of  course  it  is!  It's  perfectly  plain.  I  can 
prove  it,  too." 

But  I  put  my  pencil  on  the  one  we  'd  worked 
just  before.     "This  says  'x  equals  90,'"  I  said. 

"Well,  but  that  — "  began  Bob;  and  then 
suddenly  he  stopped  and  looked  at  me  as  if  he 
was  going  to  chew  me  all  up,  and  then  —  he 
laughed. 

"Chet,  you're  a  fraud,"  he  said.  "You  got 
me  off  my  guard." 

"  It 's  different  when  you  understand  it,  is  n't 
it.?"    I  said. 

"It  sure  is!  And  is  this  the  sort  of  thing  that 
algebra  and  geometry  are?" 

"Yep." 

"And  everything  is  just  as  clear  and  plain  as 
these  ?"    and  he  pointed  to  the  paper. 

"It  is  if  you  use  your  common  sense." 

"I  'm  a  fool,"  said  Bob. 

"  I  'm  with  you,"  said  I,  with  conviction,  and 
we  separated  at  the  comer. 


'  *   C    H     E    T   "         239 

When  I  got  to  the  house,  Mother  was  sitting  on 
the  veranda.  "Wait  a  minute,  Chester,"  she  said, 
"I  have  something  I  want  to  talk  to  you  about." 

I  knew  in  a  second  what  was  coming.  I  'd  been 
keeping  that  other  girl  under  lock  and  key  in  the 
coal-cellar  of  my  "brown  study,"  and  to  come 
home  and  find  her  as  good  as  sitting  on  the  front 
steps  and  grinning  at  me,  made  me  warm  around 
the  collar.  I  stopped  in  my  tracks.  "What  is 
it  ?"  I  said,  keeping  my  teeth  pretty  close  together. 

Mother  thought  I  did  n't  look  very  promising, 
and  sort  of  hesitated. 

"Is  it  about  her  coming  here.?"  I  asked,  in  a 
very  level  voice. 

Mother  looked  surprised.  "Yes.  I  didn't 
know  that  you  —  " 

"  Never  mind,"  I  said.  I  could  feel  the  wrinkles 
getting  tight  around  my  eyes.  "  There  's  no  use 
in  talking  about  it."  Then  I  had  a  moment  of 
hope.  "There  's  no  way  of  getting  around  it,  is 
there  r' 

"No,"  said  Mother,  very  decidedly  for  her. 

"Well,  then,  let 's  drop  it  until  the  times  comes." 

"Very  well,'*  said  Mother,  her  lips  a  little  nar- 
row. 


240         '  *    C     H     E     T    " 

I  started  into  the  house,  then  I  stopped.  I 
remembered  what  Bess  had  said  about  not  want- 
ing folks  to  tease  her  about  it.  "Say,"  I  said, 
"  I  wish  you  'd  see  that  Dad  or  anybody  does  n't 
start  to  teasing  Bess  about  it  when  she  gets  back. 
There  is  n't  any  reason  why  it  should  make  any 
difference  between  her  and  me;  but  she  does  n't 
want  to  have  it  rubbed  in,  any  more  than  I  do," 
and  I  stumped  off  to  my  room. 

On  the  table  I  found  a  letter  from  Bess.  I  had 
had  only  two  or  three  short  notes  from  her  since 
the  one  from  Chicago.  The  notes  had  come  from 
Indianapolis  and  Washington;  but  here  was  a  fine, 
long,  type-written  one,  and  it  was  from  Chicago 
again;  —  that  meant  that  she  would  soon  be  home. 
I  keeled  over  into  my  Morris  chair  and  opened 
it.     Here  it  is:  — 

"  I  'm  coming  home  next  week.  That 's  to  put 
you  in  a  good  humor  to  begin  with. 

"Next  come  adventures. 

"I  went  from  here  to  Indianapolis,  and  had 
my  type-writer  shipped  by  express;  and  when  I 
unpacked  it  there,  it  was  smashed  to  —  well,  it 
was  the  worst  smashed  up  machine  you  ever  saw. 
It  was  n't  any  use  for  me  to  get  out  my  manicure 


"   C    H    E    T   "         241 

set  again;  for  the  carriage  was  broken  square  in 
two,  and  the  ball-bearings  were  scattered  all 
through  the  box,  and  the  keys  looked  as  if  some- 
body had  walked  on  them.  It  was  n't  the  express 
company's  fault;  for  it  was  all  because  the  car- 
riage was  n't  tied,  and  had  just  slammed  around 
every  time  the  box  was  pitched  five  or  ten  feet. 
It  was  n't  my  fault,  either,  for  I  tied  the  carriage 
before  I  left,  and  Uncle  Fred  said  he  'd  see  to 
having  the  thing  packed; — but  I  kind  of  think 
that  he  used  it  a  time  or  two  before  he  packed  it, 
and  then  forgot  to  tie  it  up  again;  —  but  I'll 
never  tell  him  I  think  so. 

"When  Father  got  to  Indianapolis,  I  took  him, 
first  thing,  to  see  the  wreck;  and  he  said  it 
looked  as  if  I  had  been  trying  to  use  it  for  an  au- 
tomobile, and  had  had  a  collision.  He  did  n't  fuss 
about  it,  because  there  was  n't  any  one  there  who 
was  responsible.  Father  is  sensible  that  way;  —  he 
does  n't  just  fuss  on  principle,  but  only  when  it  will 
do  some   good.    He   can  go  some  then,  though! 

"So  that  afternoon  we  went  down  to  see  about 
having  it  fixed;  and  when  he  found  what  it  would 
cost,  —  he  whistled.  *  But  will  it  stand  up  then  ?' 
he  asked. 


242         "   C    H     E    T   '  ' 

"'Won't  guarantee  it  to  stand  up  one  week,' 
said  the  manager.  'We  '11  fix  it  for  you,  but  you 
can't  tell  a  thing  about  a  machine  as  old  as  this, 
when  it  once  begins  to  go.' 

"That  did  n't  sound  promising,  and  I  began  to 
see  my  trip  acting  like  an  engine  when  the  wheels 
don't  catch  the  rails.  I  felt  my  chin  getting  tight, 
and  I  went  and  looked  out  of  the  window  at  the 
fountain. 

"Father  stayed  and  chatted  with  the  manager 
for  a  while,  and  then  he  came  over  to  where  I  was 
and  asked  if  I  was  ready  to  go. 

"'Yes,'  I  said. 

"'Where  's  your  smile  ?'    asked  Father. 

"'I  swallowed  it,'  I  said.  'It's  right  there,' 
and  I  put  my  hand  on  my  throat.  'I  can  feel  it! 
I  never  knew  it  was  such  an  awfully  big  one!' 

"Father  laughed.  'When  children  get  things 
stuck  in  their  throats,  we  hold  'em  up  by  the 
heels  until  it  drops  out. 

"Even  that  didn't  bring  it.  Not  because  I 
was  cross;  but  because  I  was  afraid  that  if  I  let 
go  of  the  corners  of  my  mouth,  they  would  go 
down,  instead  of  up. 

"'Well,'  said  Father,  'it  looks  to  me  as  if  I  'd 


'  '   C    H    E    T   '  '         243 

have  to  go  fishing  for  it.  We  '11  go  out  and 
look  up  some  tackle  presently,  but  I  *ve  got 
some  bait  here.  Shall  we  go  now,  or  would  you 
like  to  look  at  your  new  type-writer  first  ?' 

"Well,  that  smile  came  up  so  quick  that  it  left 
an  empty  feeling  all  over  me! 

"  Oh,  Chet,  it 's  the  dandiest  machine !  And 
they  had  some  of  the  characters  changed,  so  as 
to  give  me  just  the  things  I  wanted.  Father  said 
I  ought  to  have  two  question  marks  and  two  excla- 
mation points  put  on,  because  he  was  afraid  that 
one  of  each  would  get  overworked;  and  he  said 
they  might  leave  off  the  comma,  because  I  never 
used  it  anyway;  and  he  'd  like  to  have  them  throw 
in  a  dozen  extra  capital  /V,  and  would  like  to  get 
their  rate  on  them  by  the  hundred,  because  they 
wore  out  so  fast. 

"And  then  he  and  the  manager  got  to  talking 
about  how  much  bother  it  was  to  have  it  packed 
and  shipped  every  time,  when  I  was  travelling, 
and  then  the  manager  said:  —  *Why  don't  you 
get  a  carrying  case,  and  have  it  checked  with  her 
trunk.?' 

"  Father  pricked  up  his  ears.  *  Could  I  do  that  ?* 
he  asked. 


244  '  '    C     H     E     T   '  ' 

"'Sure/  said  the  manager. 

"  '  Let  's  see  them,'  said  Father. 

"The  manager  brought  out  a  fine  large  sole- 
leather  case  with  metal  corners,  and  set  it  up  on 
a  table.  'What  do  you  think  of  that  ?'  he  asked. 
'You  just  put  your  machine  in  that  and  have  it 
checked  with  your  trunk;  and  when  your  trunk 
comes  to  the  hotel,  there  's  your  type-writer  along 
with  it,  and  all  you  have  to  do  is  to  open  it  up 
and  go  to  work,'  and  he  threw  the  lid  back,  for 
us  to  see.     It  certainly  was  fine. 

"Then  he  put  the  type-writer  in  and  fastened 
the  clamps.  'There  you  are,'  he  said;  'you  don't 
even  have  to  take  it  out  of  the  case  to  use  it;  and 
when  you  're  through,  you  just  lock  it  up,  and 
it 's  all  ready  to  go  with  your  trunk;  no  packing 
to  do,  and  no  waiting  for  the  express  company 
to  deliver  it  at  the  other  end.' 

"Of  course  there  was  nothing  to  do  but  to  get 
it,  and  my  smile  surely  did  get  overworked  for  a 
while  there. 

"The  case  had  to  be  marked  'Fragile  —  with 
care,'  and  my  initial;  and  there  were  the  changes 
to  be  made  in  the  type  of  the  machine;  so  Father 
told  them  just  to  express  it  to  Columbus  when  it 


'  '   C    H     E    T  '  '         245 

was  done,  for  I  was  going  there  the  next  day,  and 
he  was  to  join  me  later. 

"You  remember  the  Kirbys  who  live  in  Colum- 
bus, and  visited  us  last  Winter  ?  Well,  Father 
had  promised  that  I  should  spend  some  time  with 
them,  and  had  written  that  I  would  arrive  that 
week.  He  left  me  to  tell  them  what  train  I 
would  come  on ;  so  I  wrote  a  note  the  night  before 
starting,  telling  them  that  I  would  be  in  at  half- 
past  eight  the  next  evening. 

"I  had  never  been  to  Columbus  before,  and 
so  when  I  got  off  the  train,  I  looked  all  up  and 
down  the  platform  for  Mr.  Kirby  and  Ma  belle; 
but  they  were  n't  anywhere  in  sight.  *  Could  n't 
get  through  the  gates,'  thought  I,  and  I  took  a 
better  grip  on  my  things  and  started  down  the 
platform.  I  had  my  valise,  —  it 's  alligator,  you 
know,  and  it 's  heavy,  —  and  a  three  pound  box  of 
candy  for  Mabelle,  and  some  magazines,  and  a 
bag  of  fruit,  and  my  umbrella,  and  another  box  of 
candy  that  had  been  in  my  valise  and  would  n't 
go  back.     My  hat  was  wabbly,  too. 

"At  the  end  of  the  platform  was  a  tall  flight 
of  steps,  —  I  never  saw  steps  look  so  tall!  —  and 
I  started  up,  trying  to  keep  my  shoulders  back  and 


246  "    C     H     E     T   '  ' 

my  head  high,  —  and  then  I  stepped  on  the  front 
of  my  dress  with  the  heel  of  my  right  foot.  I 
never  knew  any  one  else  who  could  do  that  trick, 
—  and  I  can't,  when  I  try.  I  did  n't  tumble,  but 
my  hat  went  so  far  over  one  eye,  that  I  had  to  cock 
my  head  cornerwise  to  see  where  I  was  going,  — 
and  the  bag  of  fruit  under  my  arm  got  squashy. 

"When  I  reached  the  top,  I  was  glad  that  the 
Kirbys  were  n't  in  sight;  and  I  wriggled  my  head 
until  my  hat  went  straight,  and  dropped  the  fruit 
so  it  would  n't  stain  my  waist;  —  and  a  man 
picked  it  up  and  tried  to  hand  it  to  me,  and  as  my 
hands  were  busy,  he  laid  it  on  top  of  the  pile  of 
candy-boxes,  and  went  on. 

"I  was  sure  that  the  Kirbys  would  be  at  the 
gate;  but  they  were  n't,  and  I  went  through  and 
looked  all  around,  and  began  to  wonder  what  I  'd 
better  do.  I  went  across  the  platform  and  stood 
in  the  door  of  the  station,  so  as  to  be  in  plain  sight 
if  they  were  looking  for  me,  —  but  they  did  n't 
seem  to  be.  I  stood  there  until  the  clock  said  five 
minutes  to  nine,  and  then  I  decided  to  go  and 
telephone  to  find  out  if  they  were  on  their  way 
down  there,  —  or  how  to  get  to  their  house. 

"I  loaded  up  my  belongings  and  went  across  the 


*  *   C    H     E    T   '  '         247 

waiting-room  to  the  information  desk.  There  I 
unloaded  again,  and  picked  up  the  telephone 
directory.  There  were  two  or  three  telephones 
setting  along  the  ledge  of  the  desk.  I  followed 
the  K*s  down  the  column,  and  then  up,  and  then 
down  again;  but  there  was  n't  an  R.  M.  Kirby 
among  them. 

"That  was  different.  It  had  n't  occurred  to 
me  that  they  might  not  have  a  telephone.  The 
man  in  charge  of  the  desk  was  busy  writing.  I 
waited  a  moment,  and  then  I  said:  —  *Can  you 
tell  me  the  best  way  to  get  to  1944  luka  Avenue  V 

"*No,  lady,  I  don't  know  the  street,'  he  said, 
without  looking  up. 

"*It  's  out  near  the  University,'  I  said. 

"He  kept  on  writing. 

"I  waited  another  minute.  'Can  you  tell  me 
where  I  can  get  a  cab  ?'     I  asked,  meekly. 

"  He  looked  up  for  a  second,  and  pointed  with 
his  pen:   'Outside,'  he  said. 

"  Of  course  I  had  n't  supposed  that  it  would  be 
right  in  the  waiting-room;  but  until  he  pointed, 
I  had  n't  known  which  was  the  way  out;  for  it 
is  an  awfully  big  station,  and  I  did  n't  know  in 
which  direction  to  start. 


248  '  *   C    H     E    T   " 

"I  loaded  up  again,  and  hung  my  umbrella  to 
my  little  finger,  and  went  down  the  waiting-room; 
it  is  at  least  two  miles  and  a  half  long,  —  I 
know,  because  my  arms  were  positively  groan- 
ing when  I  reached  the  door  at  the  end,  and  my 
knees  felt  shaky.  I  asked  a  man  where  the  cab- 
stand was,  and  he  pointed  to  a  little  sentry  box 
with  a  window  in  it.  I  went  and  stood  in  line,  and 
when  I  saw  that  the  other  people  were  handing  out 
their  checks  to  the  heavy  man  inside,  I  thought  I 
might  as  well  attend  to  mine  at  the  same  time; 
so  when  my  turn  at  the  window  came,  I  handed 
him  the  check  and  gave  the  address  and  paid  for 
having  my  trunk  taken  out;  and  then  asked  what 
he  would  charge  me  for  a  cab  out  there.  Father 
says  I  must  always  make  my  bargains  before- 
hand, so  as  not  to  have  any  trouble. 

*'*One  dollar,'  he    said,  'anywhere    in    town.' 

"  *  All  right.     I  want  to  go  to  1944  luka  Avenue.' 

"'Where?'  he  said. 

"'1944  luka  Avenue.' 

"'You've  got  the  number  wrong,  ladv,'  he 
said,  and  looked  as  if  I  had  done  it  on  purpose. 

"'No,'  I  said,  'that  is  the  right  number.' 

"'It  couldn't  be,  lady,'  and  he  leaned  around 


'  '   C    H    E    T   '  '         249 

and  asked  the  person  behind  me  what  he  wanted 
and  I  found  myself  away  from  the  window  and 
out  of  line. 

"I  set  my  things  down  and  reloaded  them,  and 
then  I  asked  a  cab-driver  who  was  standing  close 
by,  if  he  knew  where    1944  luka  Avenue  was. 

***Nope,'  he  said.  'Never  heard  of  such  a  street.' 

Then  he  got  out  a  little  vest-pocket  book,  and 

went  to  studying  it.    *Um-m-um,  um-hum,  here  it 

is,'  he  said.    *  What  did  you  say  was  the  number  ?' 

1944. 

"  *  Could  n't  be  that,  lady.  Street 's  only  two 
blocks  long  and  goes  east  and  west,  —  could  n't 
run  higher  than  two  hundred.' 

"  I  turned  away.  I  was  n't  worried,  for  I 
knew  I  could  go  to  a  hotel  for  the  night,  if  it  was 
necessary,  but  I  hated  to  be  worsted.  So  I  got 
in  line  again,  and  when  I  reached  the  window  once 
more,  there  was  no  one  behind  me.  The  man 
did  n't  recognize  me  at  first;  but  when  I  said  *  1944 
luka  Avenue,'  he  scowled. 

"*I  told  you  that  you  had  the  wrong  number, 
lady,'  he  said,  and  began  checking  his  checks. 

"'But  it's  the  right  number,'  I  said.  'I've 
been  writing  letters  there  for  two  years.' 


250  '  *    C     H     E     T   '  ' 

"He  kept  on  checking  checks.  'Probably  the 
postman  knows  where  they  live,'  he  said,  without 
looking  up. 

"*But  all  their  letters  are  headed  that  way,' 
I  said. 

"He  pushed  some  papers  aside  with  a  jerk,  and 
picked  up  a  little  book  like  the  one  the  cabman 
had,  and  began  shoving  the  leaves  over  with  his 
thumb;  then  he  said  with  a  little  snort,  'Street 's 
only  two  blocks  long;  —  could  n't  be  no  such 
number.'  Then  he  stuck  the  book  in  his  pocket 
and  went  to  checking  checks. 

"I  thought  things  over  for  a  minute.  I  did 
hate  to  give  up;  but  he  did  n't  seem  to  be  inter- 
ested enough  so  's  you  could  notice,  and  I  did  n't 
know  who  else  to  apply  to.  By. and  by  I  leaned 
close  to  the  window:  —  'What  would  you  do  if 
you  were  in  my  place  V    I  asked. 

"  *  I  *d  find  out  the  right  address,'  he  said,  with- 
out looking  up,  —  and  went  on  checking  checks. 
How  .'' '    I  asked,  humbly. 

"*Look  in  a  city  directory,'  still  figuring. 

"*  Where  will  I  find  one  V 

"'Information  desk,'  he  said  in  a  tired  tone, 
—  checking  checks. 


*  '    C    H     E    T   '  '         251 

"There  was  a  city  directory  on  a  shelf  right  at 
his  elbow,  and  when  I  thought  of  that  several 
miles  of  waiting-room  between  me  and  the  infor- 
mation desk,  I  felt  like  pinching  him,  I  turned 
around,  though,  and  started  on  the  journey.  I 
did  n't  dare  to  leave  my  belongings  setting  around 
there  alone,  and  so  I  lugged  them  along. 

"My  umbrella  was  dragging  when  I  reached 
the  desk.  I  unloaded,  and  stretched  my  arms, 
and  then  tackled  the  directory.  There  it  was, 
perfectly  plainly  to  be  seen,  *R.  M.  Kirby,  1944 
luka  Avenue.'  There  was  n't  any  way  around 
it;  —  but  I  could  n't  see  that  it  helped  me  any. 

"I  turned  to  the  information  man.  He  was 
still  writing,  —  and  kept  on.  'If  you  please,*  I 
said. 

"When  he  had  written  two  or  three  sentences 
more,  he  looked  up. 

"'I  wonder  if  you  can't  advise  me  a  little,'  I 
said. 

"He  dipped  his  pen  again.  *What  is  it?'  he 
said,  holding  it  close  to  the  paper  and  looking 
at  it. 

"I  began  at  the  beginning  and  told  him  all 
about  it,  going  carefully  into  every  detail.     When 


252  '  *    C    H     E    T   '  ' 

I  had  finished,  he  was  still  looking  at  his  pen,  — 
then  he  examined  the  point  carefully,  to  see  if  the 
ink  was  dry. 

"I  waited  a  becoming  length  of  time.  '  vVhat 
would  you  do  in  a  case  like  that }'  I  asked,  at  last. 

"*I  don't  know,  lady,'  said  the  information 
man;  —  and  dipped  his  pen  and  went  on  writing 
again. 

"I  felt  myself  grin,  —  and  also  felt  myself 
stiffen  with  the  determination  to  get  there  that 
night,  —  even  if  it  took  until  morning  to  do  it. 

"I  loaded  up  again.  I  had  got  to  be  a  regular 
expert  in  arranging  those  particular  articles  so 
that  they  would  n't  drop  very  often;  for  when  one 
dropped,  I  had  to  put  them  all  down  on  the  floor 
and  stack  them  back  in  my  arms,  one  at  a  time, 
and  then  get  up  without  scattering  any,  —  and 
a  thing  like  that  takes  pretty  steady  knees.  I 
put  my  unbrella  crosswise  of  both  arms  this 
time,  and  it  worked  first  rate. 

"When  I  had  done  the  waiting-room  journey 
again,  and  got  out  to  the  sentry  box,  the  heavy 
man  was  still  checking  checks.  I  stopped  at  the 
window.  '1944  luka  Avenue  is  right,'  I  said; 
'The  directory  gives  it  that  way.' 


(    ( 


C    H     E    T   "         253 

"The  man  stopped  figuring  and  looked  squarely 
at  me.  'Then  the  directory  is  wrong/  he  said, 
—  and  went  on  checking  checks, 

"My  enthusiasm  was  up,  and  I  didn't  feel  a 
bit  cross  or  worried,  although  it  was  almost  ten 
o'clock,  and  I  did  n't  know  where  I  belonged,  — 
or  rather,  how  to  get  there.  'See  here,'  I  said, 
'I  want  to  go  out  to  that  place  to-night.  Can't 
you  send  a  cabman  out  with  me,  to  find  it.'" 

"He  shoved  his  papers  aside  and  yanked  down 
the  city  directory.  *  What 's  the  name  .?'  he  asked, 
slamming  over  the  chunks  of  leaves. 

"*R.  M.  Kirby.' 

"He  ran  his  finger  down  the  column,  with  an 
expression  that  said :  —  *  Well,  I  suppose  I  've  got 
to  show  you  your  mistake,  if  you  're  too  stupid 
to  see  it  yourself.'  Then  his  finger  stopped. 
*H-m,'  he  said.  He  took  out  his  vest-pocket 
book  and  studied  it  again.  'They  got  a  tele- 
phone ?'   he  asked. 

"'No.' 

"He  slammed  the  directory  shut  and  came  out 
of  the  door.  I  followed  him  over  to  a  row  of  cabs. 
He  called  to  a  driver,  and  said,  jerking  his  head 
at  me,  —  'She  wants  to  go  to  1944  luka  Avenue.' 


254         *  '    C     H     E     T   '  ' 

" '  I  told  her  there  was  n't  no  such  number,'  said 
the  man.  'Why,  a  number  like  that  would  be 
clear  out  to  Newark!* 

"'It 's  close  to  the  University,'  I  said;  'because 
Mr.  Kirby  is  a  professor,  and  walks  to  classes.' 
.  "They  did  n't  seem  to  be  interested  in  my  con- 
versation. 'Couldn't  be  no  such  number,'  pro- 
tested the  cabman,  in  a  sort  of  a  hurt  tone. 

"'Well,'  said  the  heavy  man,  looking  snippy, 
*she  wants  to  go  out  there  and  ride  around  for  a 
while,  so  you  take  her;  —  and  say,'  he  called, 
^charge  her  for  whatever  trouble  you  have.' 

"That  last  aroused  some  more  enthusiasm  in 
me,  all  in  a  minute.  '  See  here,'  I  said,  'you  agreed 
in  the  first  place  to  take  me  anywhere  in  town  for 
a  dollar.' 

"'Well,  lady,'  he  said,  in  an  exasperated  tone, 
'we  can't  drive  you  around  all  night,  looking  for 
some  wrong  number,  for  any  dollar! ' 

"'But  it  isn't  my  fault  if  you  don't  know  the 
town,'  I  said,  'and  if  1944  luka  Avenue  is  right, 
I  don't  see  why  I  should  pay  you  more  than  a 
dollar.' 

"He  grinned  an  awfully  unpleasant  grin. 
'That's  right,  lady,'  he  said.     'If  he  finds  that 


(   ( 


C    H    E    T  '  •         255 

there  's  any  1944  luka  Avenue,  you  don't  owe 
me  but  one  dollar.' 

"'All  right,  thank  you,'  I  said,  and  jumped 
into  the  cab,  and  the  cabman  piled  my  luggage 
in  and  climbed  up  to  his  seat. 

"We  hadn't  gone  much  more  than  a  block, 
and  I  was  sputtering  to  myself  because  folks 
were  n't  up  to  date  enough  to  have  a  telephone, 
when  suddenly  I  had  a  bright  idea.  You  remem- 
ber Mr.  Spencer,  who  went  from  our  town  last 
year  ?  Well,  I  knew  that  he  was  a  friend  of  the 
Kirbys;  and  he  was  a  railroad  man,  so  I  was 
perfectly  sure  that  he  would  have  a  telephone* 
and  could  tell  me  how  to  get  to  that  blessed 
number. 

"I  tapped  on  the  window  and  the  cabman 
leaned  around  and  opened  the  door.  'Stop  at 
the  first  drug  store,'  I  said,  'and  I  '11  call  up  some 
one  who  knows.* 

"In  a  minute  he  drew  up,  and  I  went  into  the 
store  and  laid  hold  of  the  telephone  directory. 
I  knew  that  everything  would  be  all  right,  now, 
for  Mr.  Spencer  would  probably  come  down  and 
see  me  'safe  home.' 

« But  —  his   name   was   not   in   the   telephone 


256         '  *    C    H     E    T  '  ' 

book!  I  ran  up  and  down  that  column  six  times; 
for  I  was  perfectly  sure  that  he  would  have  one 
if  no  else  in  Columbus  did,  —  but  he  was  n't  there. 

"Chester,  Columbus  has  two  telephone  com- 
panies,—  and  I  didn't  know  it!  Some  people 
have  one  kind  of  a  'phone,  and  some  people  have 
another.  Mr.  Kirby  has  one  kind,  —  and  in  the 
station,  I  had  picked  up  the  other  directory,  — 
so  I  did  n't  find  his  name.  Mr.  Spencer  has  the 
other  kind,  —  and  in  the  drug  store,  I  got  the 
different  directory,  never  thinking  but  that  they 
were  all  alike,  and  so  his  name  was  n't  down. 

"The  druggist  was  n't  checking  checks  nor 
writing,  so  I  went  up  to  him.  'Would  you  mind 
telling  me  whether  you  ever  heard  of  such  a  num- 
ber as  1944  luka  Avenue?'    I  asked. 

"'Well,  I  know  right  where  it  would  be,'  he 
said.     *I  was  out  to  1948  to  dinner  Sunday/ 

"My  smile  got  into  service  again  quick. 

"*  Would  you  mind  saying  that  to  the  cabman 
out  there  V  I  said,  motioning  toward  the  door. 
Glad  to,'  said  he,  and  followed  me  out. 

"He  and  the  cabman  discussed  matters  a  little, 
and  he  said  'Seventeenth  Avenue,*  and  then  I  got 
back  into  the  cab  and  we  started  on  again. 


(    ( 


C    H    E    T   "         257 

"We  rattled  along  beside  the  car  tracks  forever 
so  far,  and  then  we  turned  off  onto  asphalt,  and 
then  turned  again,  and  the  Hghts  in  the  houses  got 
away  back  from  the  street,  —  and  some  of  them 
away  up  high,  and  there  were  trees  all  about; — 
and  then  the  lights  stopped,  and  the  trees  seemed 
to  come  clear  together  overhead,  and  it  was  the 
very  darkest  road  I  ever  was  on. 

"We  had  been  going  very  slowly,  and  then  we 
stopped  for  a  moment,  and  then  turned  around 
and  started  back,  and  across  a  wide  street,  and  then 
we  stopped  again  beside  a  steep  bank  that  had 
been  newly  cut  down  to  the  road.  There  were 
no  trees  just  there,  and  there  was  moonlight 
enough  so  that  I  could  see  a  little.  The  cabman 
got  down  and  came  around  to  the  door.  *  I  don't 
know  where  we  are,*  he  said;  'but  there  's  some 
sort  of  a  sign  up  on  the  bank  there,  I  '11  get  up 
and  see  what  it  is.' 

"The  bank  was  about  ten  feet  high,  and  he 
started  to  climbing  up.  I  leaned  out  and  saw 
that  there  were  lights  in  houses  away  back  from 
the  street,  and  made  up  my  mind  to  inquire  in 
some  of  those  places,  if  the  cabman  did  n't  find 
out  anything  on  top  of  the  bank.     When  he  got 


258         "   C    H    E    T   '  ' 

through  scrambling  up,  he  lighted  a  match  and 
held  it  up  to  the  sign.  'Eighteenth  Avenue,' 
he  said. 

"What 's  on  the  other  side  V   I  asked. 

"'Your  street  runs  east  and  west,'  he  said, 
and  began  to  climb  down. 

"'But  look,  do  look! '  I  cried,  perfectly  certain 
that  he  would  find  it  to  be  'luka.* 

"He  scrambled  back  and  lighted  another  match. 
*Waldeck  Avenue,'  he  read,  cheerfully. 

"I  groaned,  and  he  came  sliding  down  the 
bank. 

"'Where  now,  lady.*"  he  asked. 

"I  got  out  of  the  cab.  'You  wait  here,'  I  said, 
*I  'm  going  to  inquire  at  that  house.' 

"He  climbed  into  his  seat  again,  and  followed 
slowly,  as  I  headed  for  the  nearest  window.  I 
went  along  the  sidewalk  at  first;  and  then,  because 
it  was  too  dark  to  find  the  pathway,  I  crossed  the 
lawn,  under  the  trees,  and  up  onto  somebody's 
veranda,  and  rang  the  bell. 

"A  gentleman  came  to  the  door,  and  looked 
rather  surprised  when  he  saw  me,  with  my  valise, 
at  that  time  of  night.  'Can  you  tell  me  where 
1944  luka  Avenue  is.?'   I  asked. 


'  *   C    H    E    T  "         259 

"'Right  across  the  street,  there/  he  said,  motion- 
ing with  his  hand. 

"'But,  —  but,  —  '  I  gasped  '—  this  is  Waldeck 
Avenue !  * 

Yes,'  he  said,  kindly,  *  this  side  of  it  is,  — 
and  the  other  side  is  luka.' 

"*Oh,*  I  said  'it's  simple  enough  when  you 
understand  it,  is  n't  it  ?  Are  all  the  streets  here 
named  like  that  ?  It 's  a  little  puzzling  to  stran- 
gers, you  know.* 

"He  laughed.  *No,'  he  said,  'they're  not  all 
that  way;  but  the  two  streets  come  together  here 
at  a  sharp  angle,  —  and  this  is  just  above  the 
point.' 

"'And  that 's  it .?'  I  inquired,  sighting  carefully 
at  the  light,  so  as  not  to  let  it  get  away. 

"'Yes,'  he  said,  'that's  it.  Mr.  Kirby  lives 
there.' 

"I  thanked  him  and  started  on  a  bee-line  for 
the  light.  The  cabman  followed  me;  but  he  had 
to  go  around  by  the  street,  while  I  went  straight 
across  the  grassy  flat-iron  which  divided  the  two 
streets,  and  up  over  the  terraces,  aiming  squarely 
for  the  light. 

"On  the  veranda  steps  I  waited  for  the  cabman 


26o         "   C    H     E    T    " 

with  the  rest  of  my  belongings.  I  had  my  valise 
with  me,  because  my  valuables  were  in  it.  As  he 
came  up,  I  rang  the  bell,  and  in  a  moment  Mrs. 
Kirby  opened  the  door,  —  and  she  was  the  most 
surprised  woman  you  ever  saw.  My  note  to  her 
arrived  the  next  morning! 

"  Before  we  had  any  explanations,  though,  I 
said:   'What  street  is  this,  please  ?' 

"'Why,  it 's  luka  Avenue,'  said  she. 

"'And  what  is  the  number  of  the  house  .?' 

"She  pushed  the  button  that  lighted  the  veranda, 
and  pointed  to  the  '  1944'  at  the  side  of  the  door. 

"'How  much  do  I  owe  you?'  I  asked,  turning 
to  the  cabman. 

"'One  dollar,  lady,'  he  said,  —  and  then  he 
grinned. 

"  I  paid  him,  and  then  gave  him  something  extra 
for  the  grin  and  for  climbing  that  steep  bank;  — 
and  then  I  asked  him  to  please  tell  the  gentleman 
in  the  sentry  box  that  the  number  was  1944  luka 
Avenue. 

"'You  bet  I  will!'  he  said,  —  and  he  said  it 
as  if  he  liked  the  job. 

"I  found  out  afterward  that  it 's  a  new  addition 
out  there,  only  about  two  years  old,  and  they  are 


'  *    C    H    E    T   '  '         261 

going  to  have  some  curly  streets  in  it,  like  the  ones 
in  a  suburb  of  Indianapolis,  where  you  step  on 
your  own  heels  if  you  walk  too  fast;  and  luka 
is  going  to  be  one  of  the  curly  ones.  The  upper 
part  of  it  is  pretty  nearly  east  and  west,  and  runs 
into  a  wild  ravine;  and  the  lower  part,  where  the 
Kirbys  live,  comes  out  of  the  ravine  more  than  a 
mile  below,  and  is  so  short  that  it  has  n't  gotten 
onto  the  map  yet;  —  so  the  station  people  were  n't 
so  much  to  blame  for  not  knowing  where  to  find 
it;  —  but  they  need  n't  have  been  so  afraid  of 
over-thinking  themselves  in  the  eflFort. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THE  CASE  OF  THE  NEW  TYPE-WRITER 

T  HAD  an  awfully  good  time  in  Columbus.  The 
very  first  day,  Mabelle  took  me  up  through  the 
ravine,  —  the  one  into  which  their  street  runs 
and  gets  lost,  and  then  finds  itself  again  at  the 
upper  end.  It  is  the  loveliest,  wildest  place,  with 
great  trees  and  a  tangle  of  bushes  and  under- 
growth, and  perfectly  alive  with  birds  and  squir- 
rels; and  golden-rod  and  purple  asters  were  every- 
where. Mabelle's  white  rabbit.  Son  Riley,  and 
her  cat,  Buzzer,  went  along,  and  chased  each  other 
through  the  long  grass  and  weeds,  and  had  the 
finest  time  ever.  There  were  a  lot  of  great  boul- 
ders all  along  the  bottom  of  the  ravine,  and  I  got 
pretty  much  interested  when  Mabelle  told  me  how 
some  of  them  were  meteors,  and  some  glacial 
stones,  and  pointed  out  which  was  which.  We  got 
back  just  in  time  for  lunch,  and  climbed  the  ter- 
races to  their  house.  You  see,  when  they  cut 
the  street  through  the  bottom  of  the  ravine,  they 
put  the  houses  up  on  the  top  of  the  bank,  and  then 

terraced  the  front  yards;    but  the  vacant  lots  are 

262 


(   ( 


C    H     E    T   "         263 

just  like  the  banks  of  the  ravine,  with  trees  and 
boulders,  exactly  as  they  have  been  for  hundreds 
of  years,  —  and  that 's  how  Mabelle  got  a  joke  on 
me  the  next  morning.  We  were  up  early,  and  while 
we  were  waiting  for  breakfast,  she  and  I  went  out 
and  sat  on  the  side  fence,  in  our  Jap  kimonos, 
and  listened  to  the  birds  and  looked  off  down  the 
hill,  with  Son  Riley  standing  up  tall,  and  nib- 
bling at  our  toes. 

"Presently  I  saw  a  big  gray  boulder,  about  a 
hundred  feet  down  the  hill.  '  Look,*  I  said,  point- 
ing at  it,  *Is  that  a  meteor?* 

"'No,  Elizabeth,'  said  Mabelle,  sweetly,  *that 
is  n't  a  meteor,  that  *s  a  cow!' 

"And  then  she  shrieked  so  loud  that  the  cow 
got  up  and  looked  at  us.  You  see,  it  was  a  black 
and  gray  speckled  cow,  and  she  was  lying  down, 
with  her  head  around  to  one  side,  where  it  did  n't 
show,  so  that  she  looked  exactly  like  a  great  gray 
rock;  —  and  now  they  all  say  that  I  will  never 
make  either  a  farmer  or  an  astronomer,  if  I  can't 
tell  a  cow  from  a  meteor.  Mr.  Kirby  took  me  out 
after  breakfast,  and  went  to  a  lot  of  trouble  to 
explain  to  me  the  difference;  and  pointed  out  that 
meteors  did  n't  have  horns,  nor  tassels  on  their 


264         '  '   C    H     E     T   " 

tails,  and  made  her  open  her  mouth  and  explained 
that  meteors  were  n't  lacking  in  front  teeth  in 
their  upper  jaws,  and  didn't  chew  cud;  —  until 
I  wished  that  a  genuine  meteor  would  come  along 
and  show  him  how  it  was  different  from  a  cow. 

"  But  I  am  not  going  to  tell  you  about  my  visit 
in  Columbus,  or  anywhere  else,  until  I  get  home; 
and  the  rest  of  this  letter  is  going  to  be  a  wild 
and  weird  tale  entitled,  *The  Case  of  the  New 
Type-writer.'  Does  n't  that  sound  legal,  or 
criminal,  or  something .? 

"The  machine  reached  Columbus  all  right. 
It  came  packed  in  a  wooden  box,  and  the  case 
came  the  next  day,  packed  in  another;  and 
Father  got  into  town  the  same  day.  He  stayed 
only  half  of  the  week,  and  then  went  on,  and  said 
for  me  to  start  for  Washington  on  Wednesday, 
and  he  would  get  there  about  Saturday  night. 

"  1  felt  pretty  fine  when  I  clamped  the  machine 
into  the  case  and  locked  it,  and  reminded  myself 
that  there  was  n't  another  thing  to  do  until  I 
unlocked  it  in  the  hotel  in  Washington.  I  sent 
it  to  the  station  with  my  trunk;  and  then,  when 
I  went  down  to  take  my  train,  at  about  nine 
o'clock  that  night,  I  went  into  the  baggage  room 


'  *  C    H     E    T  '  '  265 

to  check  them.     The  baggage  master  set  the  case 
up  onto  the  counter. 

'Oh,  I  want  to  check  that,  too,'  I  said. 

"'Can't  check  that,  lady,'  said  the  baggage 
master,  pleasantly. 

"'Why  not.?'    I  asked. 

"'Against  orders.' 

'"But  that 's  what  it 's  for!'  I  gasped.  'It's 
made  for  that.' 

"'Can't  help  it,  lady.  We  ain't  allowed  to 
check  'em.    Too  much  risk.' 

"'Then  check  it  at  her  risk,'  said  Mr.  Kirby. 
He  and  Mabelle  were  with  me. 

"'Can't  do  it.     Against  orders.' 

"'But  what  shall  I  do.?'  I  cried.  'My  train 
goes  in  ten  minutes.' 

'The  baggage  master  looked  sympathetic. 
*  I  '11  send  a  porter  down  to  the  car  with  it/  he 
said. 

"That  helped  some;  for  I  could  barely  lift  the 
thing,  by  taking  both  hands  and  my  knees,  —  but 
I  could  n't  carry  it  more  than  three  steps  at  a 
time  that  way. 

"I  said  good-bye  to  Mr.  Kirby  and  Mabelle 
at  the  gate,  and  followed  the  porter  and  the  type- 


266  '  '    C     H     E     T    '  ' 

writer  case  along  the  platform  and  down  the 
stairs  to  the  train.  The  porter  set  it  between  the 
seats  in  my  section,  and  I  climbed  over  it  and  sat 
down.  You've  no  idea  how  big  a  type-writer  case 
is  until  you  come  to  divide  up  small  quarters 
with  it.  I  tried  to  shove  it  under  the  seat;  but  it 
was  too  high  both  ways,  so  I  let  it  be.  I  did  n't 
particularly  mind  climbing  over  it,  anyway. 

"The  train  started  up,  and  pretty  soon  the 
Pullman  conductor  came  through.  When  he 
caught  sight  of  the  case,  he  stopped  short  and 
glared.     'You  can't  have  that  in  here,'  he  said. 

"  I  just  looked  at  him.  There  did  n't  seem  to 
be  anything  to  say,  and  so  I  did  n't  say  it. 

"*I  said  you  couldn't  have  that  in  here,' he 
remarked  again. 

"'Well,  wh-where  can  I  have  it?'  I  asked, 
meekly. 

"  *  It  ought  to  be  in  the  baggage  car.  Why  did  n't 
you  have  it  checked  .'" 

"'They  would  n't  check  it.' 

" '  Huh  .?     Why  would  n't  they  .?' 

"'Said  it  was  against  orders.' 

"'Well,  you  can't  have  it  in  here,'  he  said,  and 
walked  on. 


*  *    C     H     E    T   '  '  267 

"I  sat  and  stared  at  the  case,  and  the  nice 
marking,  'Fragile,  WITH  CARE,'  and  sighed. 
I  wished  that  the  'WITH  CARE'  wasn't  in 
capitals,  —  it  was  so  suggestive,  —  I  'd  never  had 
so  much  care  on  my  hands  before  in  all  my  life. 
And  it  was  such  a  perfectly  well-behaved  case 
too;  —  it  was  n't  doing  a  thing. 

"  By  and  by  the  porter  came  in  and  began  mak- 
ing up  the  berths,  and  I  held  my  breath,  hoping 
he  'd  get  to  me  before  the  conductor  came  back, 
but  he  did  n't,  and  in  a  few  minutes,  the  blue 
uniform  came  down  the  car  and  stopped  at  my 
seat.  '  I  told  you  you  could  n't  have  that  in  here,' 
he  said. 

"  I  suppose  he  had  expected  me  to  eat  it  while 
he  was  gone;  but  I  had  n't.  '  I  'm  —  I  'm  sorry,' 
I  said,  weakly. 

" '  It 's  too  big,'  he  said,  shoving  his  toe  against 
it. 

"'It  doesn't  run  over  into  the  aisle  any,'  I 
said. 

'"Well,  but  suppose  some  one  else  takes  that 
other  seat,  —  what  you  going  to  do  then  ?  What  '11 
they  do  with  their  feet  V 

"  I  had  to  admit  that  it  was  a  poor  outlook  for 


268         '  '    C     H     E    T   '  ' 

their  feet,  and  that  mine  had  cramps  in  them 
already. 

"He  seemed  glad  of  that. 

"'Well,'  he  said,  'we  can't  have  it  in  here,'  — 
and  then  he  stood  and  waited. 

"I  was  just  beginning  to  get  real  bothered, 
when  suddenly  the  funny  side  of  it  struck  me,  and 
I  could  feel  the  corners  of  my  mouth  going  up. 

I  tried  to  draw  them  down.  "'Now,  see  here,' 
I  said,  'suppose  you  were  me,  and  this  was  your 
type -writer,  what  would  you  do  with  it,  right  now  ?' 

"He  moistened  his  lips  several  times.  *H-m,' 
he  said,  'Well,  I  —  I  guess  I'd  have  to  carry 
it  on  the  roof.' 

"I  tried  to  look  relieved.  'How  can  I  get  up 
there  .?'  I  said,  'and  will  I  have  to  stay  with  it, 
and  hold  it  on  .? ' 

He  laughed  then,  and  so  did  I;  and  then  he 
said  that  if  the  other  berth  was  n't  taken,  the  case 
could  stay  where  it  was;  so  I  festooned  myself 
around  it  and  waited  until  we  should  have  passed 
some  place,  I  can't  remember  what,  to  see  if  any 
one  had  the  berth. 

"Some  one  had.  A  decided-looking  man  and 
his  wife  came  in  and  compared  the  number  of 


*  *   C    H     E    T   '  '         269 

the  seat  with  their  tickets,  —  and  looked  at  the 
type-writer  case.  The  conductor  was  n't  in  sight, 
so  I  asked  them  if  they  would  n't  as  lief  sit  down 
in  the  seat  across  the  aisle,  because  the  porter  was 
just  coming  to  me.  The  woman  was  nice  about  it 
and  the  man  did  it,  and  I  gave  the  porter  a  quarter 
and  told  him  to  hurry  and  make  up  the  berth. 
You  see,  I  wanted  to  get  the  type-writer  into  it 
before  the  conductor  got  back. 

"I  thought  that  I  had  the  lower  berth,  but  my 
ticket  called  for  the  upper  one;  and  when  the 
porter  said  he  'd  ask  the  conductor  about  it,  I 
told  him  to  never  mind,  that  I  did  n't  care;  if 
he  could  only  get  the  case  up  there.  He  said 
he  could  do  that  all  right,  and  he  did,  and  I 
climbed  up  after  it,  and  felt  safe. 

"  He  put  it  at  the  foot  of  the  berth,  and  every 
once  in  a  while,  when  I  first  went  to  bed,  I  would 
put  my  foot  down,  to  see  if  it  was  there  and  be- 
having as  it  should;  and  then  I  went  to  sleep,  and 
when  I  wakened  up  and  put  out  my  foot,  the  thing 
seemed  farther  away,  and  I  began  to  be  afraid 
that  it  was  going  to  tumble  off.  I  could  n't  go 
to  sleep  for  thinking  of  it,  and  so  by  and  by  I 
crawled  down  there  and  got  hold  of  the  handle 


2/0         '  '    C    H     E    T   " 

and  wrestled  the  thing  up  close  beside  me,  where 
I  could  keep  my  hand  on  it.  But  that  did  n't 
help  much;  for  every  time  that  the  train  lurched, 
or  went  around  a  bend,  it  jiggled  so  that  I  was 
absolutely  sure  that  it  would  slide  off.  And  then 
I  had  an  idea,  —  a  perfectly  good  one.  I  took 
the  blanket  and  tied  one  corner  of  it  to  some  sort 
of  a  knob,  or  hook  or  something,  in  the  back  of 
the  berth,  and  the  other  corner  through  the  handle 
of  the  case.  It  left  some  slack,  because  the  blanket 
was  too  thick  to  draw  far  through  the  handle; 
but  I  had  it  tied  tight,  and  knew  it  could  n't  get 
away,  so  I  crawled  under  the  rope  of  blanket,  and 
went  to  sleep. 

"I  was  just  explaining  to  Mabelle  that  the 
bright,  shiny  cow  that  we  could  see  up  in  the  sky, 
jumping  over  the  moon,  was  really  a  meteor, 
and  had  teeth  in  both  jaws,  because  I  could  see 
them,  when  suddenly  it  stumbled  and  came  keel- 
ing over  and  over,  right  down  toward  us,  and  then 
it  landed  on  my  breast  with  a  thud,  and  held  me 
down,  crushing  me  so  I  could  n't  breathe,  —  and 
my  arms  were  under  it,  too,  so  I  could  n't  struggle; 
—  and  then  I  knew  I  was  awake,  and  there  must 
be  a  wreck,  and  I  was  under  the  timbers;    and  1 


'  *   C    H     E    T   '  '  271 

kept  my  eyes  shut  for  just  a  second  longer,  and 
then  I  opened  them  and  saw,  by  the  dim  light, 
that  there  was  n't  any  wreck.  But  the  weight 
was  still  on  my  chest,  and  my  arms  were  pinioned, 
and  the  man  in  the  berth  below  was  asking  ques- 
tions of  his  wife.  I  could  n't  hear  what  he  said, 
but  I  could  tell  that  it  was  questions,  —  and  that 
he  seemed  to  think  it  was  her  fault. 

"  I  knew  what  was  the  matter,  now;  —  that 
my  type-writer  had  tumbled  off,  and  was  holding 
me  down,  with  the  blanket  stretched  across  me. 
I  could  breathe  fairly,  up  high,  when  I  got  used 
to  it,  but  I  could  n't  move  a  thing  except  my  feet. 
I  lay  still  and  tried  to  decide  what  to  do.  The 
man  kept  on  asking  questions,  and  then  he  decided 
to  find  out  what  was  the  trouble.  The  road  was 
pretty  rough  along  there,  and  I  guess  he  sat  up, 
but  could  n't  see  what  was  the  matter;  for  the  case 
was  hanging  outside  of  the  little  curtain  that  drops 
from  the  bottom  of  the  upper  berth.  I  could 
just  about  tell  what  was  going  on,  by  the  sound. 
He  went  to  put  his  head  out,  to  see  what  was 
doing,  and  just  then  the  train  went  around  a  curve, 
and  the  case  must  have  swung  in  real  hard,  exactly 
at  the  wrong  time.     It  was  a  little  higher  up  than 


2/2  '  *   C    H     E    T  '  ' 

he  was  expecting  to  look  for  anything,  and  I  guess 
it  caught  him  just  about  on  the  crown  of  his  head, 
—  and  it  weighs  more  than  fifty  pounds,  —  and 
was  swinging  on  the  end  of  a  blanket !  Of  course 
I  don't  know  exactly  what  happened,  but  I  think 
it  knocked  him  up  against  the  window,  from  the 
sound,  —  though  he  may  have  gone  over  there  on 
purpose.  Anyway,  his  voice  came  from  over  on 
that  side  awfully  quick,  —  and  he  sounded  as  if 
he  had  a  notion  to  throw  his  wife  off  the  train. 

"  He  had  n't  found  out  what  was  the  matter, 
and  I  think  that  he  went  at  it  kind  of  easy  the  next 
time;  and  he  'd  just  got  hold  of  the  thing  with 
both  hands  and  was  feeling  to  find  out  what  it 
was,  when  the  train  swung  the  other  way  and  he 
went  out  into  the  aisle,  —  all  but  his  feet. 

"Then  he  began  to  talk  to  his  wife  some  more. 
I  guess  she  must  have  held  his  feet,  or  done  some- 
thing like  that,  for  she  certainly  was  to  blame  that 
time,  and  he  was  n't  going  to  stand  for  it. 

"I  was  giggling  until  I  ached  all  over,  and  it  's 
hard  to  giggle,  when  you  've  only  about  a  quarter 
of  an  inch  of  breathing  space  to  do  it  in.  Pretty 
quick  he  tackled  the  thing  all  over  again,  and 
followed  the  lead  of  the  blanket,  up  to  my  berth. 


'  '    C    H     E    T  '  '         273 

"*What  's  the  matter  up  there  ?'    he  called. 

"I  tried  to  make  my  voice  sound  meek.  'My 
type-writer  got  away,'  I  said. 

"'Well,  why  don't  you  haul  it  up  .?'   he  asked. 

"'I  can't,  —  I  'm  under  it,'  I  said. 

"'Huh.?'    he  asked. 

"'The  blanket 's  holding  me  down,'  I  said. 

"'Are  you  hurt.?'  called  his  wife,  and  I  heard 
her  scrambhng  out. 

"I  said  'no,'  as  her  head  appeared  above  the 
edge  of  the  berth.     'I  just  can't  move,  that 's  all.* 

"So  the  two  of  them  hoisted  the  machine  until 
I  could  crawl  out  from  under  the  blanket;  and 
then,  among  us,  we  managed  to  get  it  back  up 
again,  the  man  sputtering  all  the  time.  He  seemed 
to  think  that  his  wife's  education,  along  the  line  of 
hoisting  type-writers,  had  been  neglected.  When 
we  had  gotten  it  up,  I  hauled  it  over  to  the  back 
of  the  berth  and  sat  and  leaned  against  it  for  the 
rest  of  the  night.  I  was  n't  faking  any  more 
chances.  It  makes  as  good  a  chair-back  as  it 
does  a  type-writer  case,  anyway! 

"  I  dressed  early,  and  when  we  got  to  Washing- 
ton I  tipped  the  porter  to  carry  the  case  to  the 
platform,  and  then  got  a  station   porter  to  take 


274         *  '    C     H     E    T    '  ' 

it  to  the  checking-desk,  and  left  it  there.  Then  I 
took  a  car  to  the  family  hotel  that  Father  had  told 
me  to  go  to.  Father  said  he  wanted  me  to 
learn  to  find  places,  instead  of  taking  a  cab  every- 
where. I  did  n't  order  my  luggage  sent,  because 
I  was  n't  sure  whether  they  could  put  me  up  at 
that  hotel,  and  if  not,  I  'd  have  to  try  another. 

"During  the  morning  I  called  up  a  friend  of 
Father's,  as  I  had  promised  to,  and  in  the  evening 
he  came  over,  and  said  he  would  take  me  down  to 
see  the  Congressional  Library,  and  we  could  attend 
to  the  luggage  at  the  same  time. 

"We  went  to  the  station  first,  and  at  the  baggage 
room,  I  handed  in  my  checks  and  gave  the  man  the 
address,  and  told  him  that  the  type-writer  was  at 
the  checking-desk. 

"He  shoved  the  check  back  to  me.  'We  can't 
take  that  up.  Miss,'  he  said. 

"I  was  glad  he  called  me  'Miss.'  In  Columbus 
they  had  called  me  *  lady.* 

"*It  's  in  a  sole-leather  travelling-case,'  I  said, 
as    if  that     settled     the    question. 

"'Can't  help  it.  Miss,'  which  of  course  he 
could  n't. 

"'And  you  can't  deliver  kf 


*  '    C    H     E    T   '  '         275 

"'No,  Miss.' 

"'Why  not?' 

"'Against  orders/ 

"'But  why?' 

Well,  —  a  trunk  might  fall  on  it,  you  know.' 

"We  turned  away,  and  went  to  the  checking- 
desk.  There  was  a  boy  there,  and  I  told  him 
about  it.     'What  shall  I  do?'    I  asked. 

"'I'd  take  it  up  myself,  if  I  lived  on  that  side 
of  the  city,'  he  said;   ' — but  I  don't.' 

"I  thanked  him. 

"'You  might  get  a  telegraph  messenger,'  he 
suggested. 

"'But  it's  so  big,'  I  groaned,  ' — and  they're 
always  so  little.* 

"  *  Why  don't  you  go  and  look  'em  over  and  pick 
out  the  biggest  boy  on  the  bench  ?' 

"I  turned  to  find  the  bench,  when  Father's 
friend  came  to  the  rescue.  *  I  '11  take  it  up,'  he 
said.  Father's  friend  is  not  so  very  young,  but 
he  is  desperately  slim. 

"*Oh,  you  can't!'    I  exclaimed. 

"He  threw  his  shoulders  back.  'Certainly  I 
can,'  he  remarked  decidedly,  and  then  he  told  the 
boy  at  the  desk  that  we   would    be    back   for   it 


276  *  '    C     H     E     T    '  ' 

in  about  an  hour,  —  and  we  started  for  the 
library. 

"  I  'm  not  going  to  write  you  one  word  about 
that  library.  It  and  my  vocabulary  are  n't  built 
on  the  same  lines,  and  they  won't  associate  at 
all,  —  won't  even  nod  in  passing. 

"It  was  more  than  an  hour  before  we  got  back 
to  the  station,  and  when  the  boy  set  that  heavy 
case  on  the  counter,  I  felt  like  crawling  under 
it,  —  under  the  counter,  I  mean.  The  man 
did  n't  fit  the  case,  any  better  than  my  vocabulary 
fits  the  library;  but  he  was  braver  than  I  am,  — 
he  tackled  it,  —  and  he  changed  hands  three  times 
before  we  got  to  the  door!  That  was  doing  real 
well,  though,  for  the  waiting-room  is  almost  as 
wide  as  the  Columbus  one  is  long;  —  and  he  only 
set  it  down  once  on  the  way  to  the  car.  I  was 
awfully  afraid  the  conductor  would  n't  let  us  take 
it  on;  but  he  did  n't  even  notice  it,  and  everything 
went  swimmingly.  In  one  place  we  had  to  change 
cars,  and  I  did  wish  that  the  thing  had  two  handles, 
so  that  I  could  help  get  it  across  the  street.  The 
only  time  we  had  any  trouble  was  when  he  'd 
gotten  it  about  half  way  across,  and  it  suddenly 
got   heavier   than    he    had    thought    it    was,   and 


'  *   C    H     E    T  '  '         277 

he  set  it  down  quick,  and  he  had  n't  quite  stopped 
going,  and  his  feet  and  knees  got  tangled  up  in 
it;  —  but  he  was  n't  cross  about  it  at  all.  He 
said  it  was  good  for  his  muscles. 

"We  had  to  walk  almost  three  blocks  after  we 
got  off  of  the  car,  and  then  was  when  things  got 
strenuous.  He  set  it  down  every  ten  steps,  so 
that  he  could  point  out  buildings  and  statues  to 
me.  Some  of  the  things  I  could  n't  see,  because 
they  were  around  the  corner  or  across  the  block; 
but  they  were  somewhere  near,  and  he  wanted  to 
tell  me  about  them.  And  when  we  were  n't 
stopping,  he  changed  hands  so  often  that  I  felt  as 
if  I  were  walking  with  a  physical  culture  person, 
who  was  swinging.  Indian  clubs.  He  really  got 
quite  a  swing  on  it  after  a  while,  especially  when 
he  had  put  his  handkerchief  over  the  handle,  so 
as  to  get  a  better  grip.  I  was  rather  glad  when  we 
reached  the  hotel,  though. 

"  It  was  all  right  after  I  got  it  to  my  room  and 
into  my  clothes-press.  It 's  a  perfectly  good 
travelling-case,  —  when  it  is  n't  travelling. 

"When  Father  came,  I  told  him  my  tale  of 
woe,  and  it  was  worth  all  of  my  troubles,  just 
to   hear   him   laugh.      'What   are   you   thinking 


2/8  '  *    C     H     E     T    '  ' 

about   using  that   case   for,   from   now  on  ?'    he 
asked. 

"*I  don't  know,'  I  said.  'It  might  do  for  a 
mantlepiece  ornament,  if  it  were  n't  quite  so  wide; 
but  I  'm  afraid  it  would  topple  off,  unless  it  was 
shaved  down  some.' 

"'I'll  tell  you,'  said  Father;  'You  can  cut 
some  little  slits  in  it  and  use  it  to  carry  a  cat  or 
dog  in.     It  would  be  fine  for  that.' 

"'But  I  haven't  any  cat  or  dog,'  I  objected. 

"'Oh,  well,  we  could  pick  one  up  cheap,'  said 
Father. 

"'But  that  would  n't  carry  the  type-writer.' 

'"That 's  so,'  said  Father,  'I  had  n't  thought  of 
that.  Well  then,  I  '11  have  a  couple  of  wheels  put 
on  it,  and  some  straight  handles,  and  you  can  use 
it  for  a  perambulator,  and  wheel  it  home  'cross 
country.  But  really,  chicken,'  he  said,  more 
soberly, '  what  are  you  going  to  do  }  I  have  to  leave 
you  again  to-morrow.' 

"'Don't  bother  about  it,'  said  I.  '  I  'd  sort  of 
like  to  work  the  thing  out  for  myself.' 

"'You  're  game,'  he  said;  'go  ahead.' 

The  next  day  I  saw  him  off  on  the  train,  and  then 
went  to  the  Washington  office  of  the  type-writer 


*  '    C     H     E    T   '  '  279 

company  and  told  a  salesman  there  all  about  my 
trouble.  He  was  very  nice,  and  very  interested, 
and  explained  that  all  of  my  trials  were  due  to 
rules  that  the  railroads  had  just  adopted,  and 
which  the  Indianapolis  manager  probably  dfd  n't 
know  about. 

"*I  '11  tell  you  what  we  *11  do,'  he  said;  'You 
let  us  know  when  you  are  ready  to  go,  and  we  '11 
send  up  after  the  machine,  and  we  '11  clamp  it 
into  the  case,  and  put  the  case  into  a  wooden  box 
and  pack  it  around  with  excelsior,  and  send  it 
by  express.' 

"'But,'  I  said,  'what 's  the  advantage  of  having 
a  case,  if  you  do  it  so  ?' 

Why  —  well  —  you   get   it   home   that   way, 
you  know.' 

"  But  I  could  n't  see  exactly  where  the  advantage 
lay,  in  that. 

"Then  I  went  to  the  express  office;  and  the 
agent  said  that  he  would  ship  it  in  the  case,  with- 
out boxing,  —  for  exactly  double  rates. 

"I  decided  to  make  another  effort  to  check  it, 
and  if  I  could  n't,  to  take  it  on  the  train  with  me. 

"I  was  going  from  there  to  East  Aurora,  New 
York,  and  did  n't  have  to  change  cars  at  all;  so 


28o         '  *    C     H     E    T   '  ' 

I  hired  a  man  to  take  it  to  the  station.  The 
baggage  man  refused  to  check  it.  '  If  it  was  in  a 
square  trunk,  I  could  check  it,  Miss,'  he  said. 

"'But  what 's  the  difference  .?'    I  asked. 

"'They  would  n't  know  what  was  in  it.' 

" '  But  would  n't  it  get  handled  like  other  trunks 
then  V    I  asked, ' —  all  banged  around  .?' 
Yes  m. 

"I  hired  a  porter  to  carry  it  out  to  the  train, 
and  as  soon  as  the  Pullman  porter  came  into  the 
car,  I  gave  him  fifty  cents  real  quick.  It  was  a 
parlor  car,  and  he  took  a  lot  of  pains  to  set  the  case 
back,  close  to  the  window,  and  I  draped  myself 
over  it,  and  when  the  conductor  came  in,  he  never 
guessed  that  there  was  anything  so  ferocious  within 
a  thousand  miles  of  him;  —  and  everything  was 
lovely  all  the  way  to  East  Aurora.  I  thought  that 
I  had  solved  the  problem. 

"The  train  pulled  in  at  about  nine  o'clock  at 
night,  and  my  car  stopped  something  like  a  block 
from  the  baggage  room;  and  of  course  there 
were  n't  any  porters  around  a  little  place  like  that. 
The  station  was  clear  across  the  street  from  where 
I  was,  and  I  stood  there  beside  the  incubus 
('incubus'  is  a  perfectly  good  word,  —  I  looked 


*  '   C    H     E    T   '  '         281 

it  up,  and  it  means  nightmare,  or  a  sensation  of 
depressing  weight  on  your  chest!)  until  the  train 
pulled  out.  Then  I  stood  there  a  while  longer; 
but  nobody  went  by.  There  was  a  little  cigar 
store  close  to  the  track,  and  I  took  my  valise  over 
and  set  it  close  to  the  wall  of  that,  and  then  I  went 
back  and  took  hold  of  the  handle  of  the  nightmare. 
It  fought  back;  but  I  wrestled  it  over  to  the  door 
of  the  store,  and  asked  the  young  man  in  charge 
if  he  would  be  willing  to  keep  it  until  I  sent  for  it. 
"He  said  he  'd  be  glad  to,  and  he  set  it  behind 
the  counter,  and  I  started  for  the  Inn.  Father 
had  told  me  just  how  to  go,  and,  oh,  Chet,  was  n't 
it  good  —  good  —  good,  to  breathe  in  that  country 
air,  full  of  the  smell  of  the  leaves  that  were  flut- 
tering down  all  over  the  board  walks,  and  of  the 
grass,  and  of  the  fruit  lying  under  the  trees  in 
the  dooryards  ?  It  was  dark;  but  I  knew  just 
what  every  odor  and  sound  meant,  and  I  could 
hear  the  apples  thud  down  onto  the  grass,  when  a 
little  breeze  blew,  and  I  could  scuff  through  the 
leaves  that  rustled  all  about  my  ankles.  I  'd 
been  in  the  cities  so  much  that  I  felt  as  if  I  were 
suddenly  free  again,  and  I  wanted  to  wave  my  arms 
and  just  squeal  with   delight.      You  know  I  'm 


282  '  '    C     H     E    T   '  ' 

never  afraid  to  be  out  alone  at  night,  and  so  that 
did  n't  bother  me  a  bit,  even  if  the  place  was 
strange;  —  but  then,  you  know,  the  country  never 
is  really  strange,  —  it  is  home  everywhere. 

"The  boy  who  carried  my  valise  to  my  room  at 
the  Inn,  looked  strong,  —  everybody  looks  strong 
down  there,  —  and  so  I  asked  him  if  he  would  go 
to  the  cigar  store  and  get  the  type-writer.  It  was 
about  half  a  mile  away,  I  guess.  He  said  he 
would;  so  I  put  the  'CARE'  off  of  my  mind,  and 
went  down  to  the  living-room  to  write  to  Father, 
because  I  wanted  the  letter  to  go  out  early  in  the 
morning. 

"The  boy  was  gone  a  dreadfully  long  time,  and 
when  he  did  come  in  with  the  machine,  he  did  n't 
look  very  pleased.  'Did  you  have  any  trouble 
with  it  .f"    I  asked,  anxiously. 

"'Went  after  it  with  my  bicycle!'  he  remarked. 

"'Why,  how  in  the  world  did  you  manage.'" 
I  gasped. 

"'I'll  never  tell  you.  The  thing  won't  ride, 
and  it  won't  walk,  and  the  bicycle  either  shied  or 
kicked  at  it  every  time  I  got  'em  within  two  rods 
of  each  other.' 

"I  followed  him  up  stairs  with  it,  feeling  dread- 


*  *    C    H     E    T   ','         283 

fully  guilty;  —  and  then,  when  I  got  there,  and 
he  had  put  it  on  the  table  and  unlocked  it  for  me, 
and  I  went  to  pay  him,  —  he  would  n't  take  a 
cent!  I  felt  about  two  inches  high!  It's  queer, 
though,  is  n't  it,  Chet,  that  we  are  in  such  a  habit 
of  paying  for  everything  that  any  one  does  for  us, 
that  when  some  person  who  is  n't  a  particular  friend 
is  willing  to  do  a  kindness,  just  to  help,  it  makes 
us  feel  small  to  accept  it  ?  It  does  n't  seem  as  if 
it  ought  to  be  that  way,  does  it  ?  Before  I  left 
there,  I  got  used  to  having  kindnesses  done,  — 
just  to  be  kind.  It  is  a  mighty  pleasant  thing  to 
get  used  to,  —  and  it  is  contagious,  too. 

"  I  had  a  week  of  the  glorious  out-doors  there. 
I  never  saw  such  out-doors  before;  —  such  crooked 
brown  roads  that  lead  you  on  and  on,  because  you 
know  that  just  around  the  bend  is  going  to  be 
something  that  you  absolutely  must  see;  but  you 
never  get  tired.  And  such  a  wonderful  little  river, 
winding  and  twisting,  with  the  trees  meeting  over- 
head, and  the  vines  dropping  down  and  patting 
your  cheeks  and  tweaking  your  hair  as  you  row 
under  them.  And  down  below  the  dam,  it  is 
shallow,  only  a  foot  deep,  perhaps,  and  running 
over  a  perfectly  flat  rock   bottom  as  smooth  as 


284  *  '   C     H     E     T   '  ' 

pavement;  but  it  is  more  than  a  hundred  feet 
wide;  and  there  are  funny  boulders,  shaped  Hke 
monstrous  turtles,  that  work  themselves  out  of 
the  high  shale  banks  and  roll  down  into  the  cleat 
water,  and  lie  there  for  stepping-stones,  or  to  sit 
on.  And  one  side  of  the  river  is  always  low,  either 
meadow  or  woods,  coming  close  to  the  water;  and 
the  other  side  is  always  a  high  bluff,  sometimes  of 
shale,  and  sometimes  with  pine  trees  growing  all 
over  it;  —  and  sometimes  the  bluff  is  on  one  side 
and  sometimes  on  the  other,  but  never  on  both 
at  once.  And  the  pine  trees  dip  their  branches 
into  the  water, —  and  there  are  wintergreens,  and 
butternuts,  and  wild  apples. 

"And  there  is  a  wonderful  glen  that  looks  as 
if  no  one  but  you  had  ever  been  there  for  a 
thousand  years.  The  sides  are  straight  up,  and 
covered  with  great  trees,  and  old  logs  grown  over 
with  moss  and  vines;  and  in  the  rocks  of  the 
bottom,  which  the  water  flows  over,  are  what 
look  like  the  prints  of  people's  feet,  made  so  long 
ago  that  it  makes  you  feel  weird  and  tiny.  And 
when  you  fit  your  feet  into  them,  it  throws  you 
into  the  very  position  in  which  some  one  stood, 
so  desperately  long  ago,  when  that  rock  was  only 


'  '    C    H     E    T   '  '         285 

clay.  And  at  the  upper  end  of  the  glen,  is  a  tall 
cascade,  which  they  say  is  a  hundred  and  ten  feet 
high,  and  the  water  falls  into  a  clear,  rocky  pool 
and  — 

"  But  there,  Chet,  this  is  The  Case  of  the  Type- 
writer, and  if  I  get  to  talking  about  outdoor 
things,  you  know  what  will  become  of  every- 
thing else! 

"There  were  quite  a  number  of  Christian 
Scientists  at  the  Inn,  and  there  is  a  church  build- 
ing that  the  Scientists  put  up  for  themselves.  It 
is  a  wee  little  one;  but  on  that  lovely,  shady  vil- 
lage street,  where  everything  is  quiet  and  beautiful, 
it  looked  just  as  good  to  me  as  some  of  the  great, 
big,  handsome  ones  that  I  have  seen  in  cities.  I 
have  never  seen  a  city  anywhere  nearly  so  beauti- 
ful as  that  little  village  of  twenty-five  hundred 
people;  —  even  our  town  is  clumsy  compared  with 
it,  and  the  world  does  n't  joggle  as  it  turns  around, 
there. 

"  Father  was  there  for  only  three  days,  and  then 
left  me  to  come  on  to  Chicago  alone.  Uncle 
Fred  is  still  here;  but  Aunt  Fannie  has  gone 
away  on  a  visit,  and  so  he  is  staying  at  a  hotel 
on  the  South  Side.     Father  said  for  me  to  get  off 


286         '  *    C    H     E     T   '  ' 

of  the  train  at  the  Hyde  Park  station,  and  Uncle 
Fred  would  meet  me  and  take  me  to  the  hotel. 
The  only  change  for  me  to  make  was  at  Buffalo, 
and  that  was  all  in  the  same  depot. 

"I  went  down  to  the  East  Aurora  station  to 
get  my  ticket,  in  the  morning  of  the  day  before  I 
was  to  leave,  and  asked  the  agent  how  early  I 
would  have  to  start  my  trunk  down,  so  that  it 
would  be  sure  to  get  onto  the  early  train. 

"'That  train  don't  wait  to  take  on  baggage  here,' 
he  said;  'you  '11  have  to  get  it  down  by  four 
o'clock  this  afternoon,  so  it  can  go  yesterday.' 

"  I  gasped.  '  But  —  but  how  can  it  go  yester- 
day.?'    I  asked. 

"'Well,  if  it  goes  to-day,  then  when  you  go 
to-morrow  morning,  it  will  have  gone  yester- 
day, won't  it .?'   looking  as  if  I  wearied  him. 

"I  had  to  admit  that  it  would,  and  hurried 
back  to  the  Inn  to  pack. 

"My  train  went  before  seven  o'clock  the  next 
morning,  and  as  I  took  an  ordinary  day-coach 
into  Buffalo,  wjiich  is  only  seventeen  miles,  and 
the  baggage-man  put  my  type-writer  into  the  car 
for  me,  I  had  no  trouble.  You  see,  I  did  n't  dare 
to  try  to  check  it  clear  through  from  East  Aurorai 


*  '   C    H     E    T   '  '         287 

for  fear  that  it  would  be  held  up  in  Buffalo,  and 
I  had  only  fifteen  minutes  between  trains  there. 
So  I  decided  that,  since  my  early  tip  to  the  porter 
from  Washington  had  worked  so  well,  I  would 
try  that  way  again. 

"The  trip  to  Buffalo  took  only  half  an  hour, 
—  that  is,  as  far  as  the  Buffalo  'yards';  but  when 
we  got  there,  our  train  stopped  to  wait  for  another 
train  to  get  through  doing  something,  and  then 
it  waited  for  some  engines  to  do  things,  and 
then  it  backed  a  little  way  and  sat  down  to  think 
about  it. 

"  I  looked  at  my  watch,  and  then  took  my  valise 
and  carried  it  to  the  front  of  the  car  and  went 
back  and  tackled  the  type-writer;  but  about  six 
men  jumped  before  I  had  gotten  a  fair  hold  on 
the  handle,  and  the  way  it  was  hustled  out  onto 
the  platform  of  the  car,  must  have  given  it  a  shock. 
I  told  some  of  them  that  I  had  to  make  the 
train  that  was  going  in  six  minutes,  and  they  got 
interested  and  almost  tumbled  off  the  train  trying 
to  see  what  was  the  matter,  and  how  near  in  we 
were;  and  when  the  conductor  came  along,  they 
pretty  nearly  mobbed  him;  and  then  they  got 
out  their  watches,  and  put  their  thumb-nails  on 


288  '  *    C     H     E     T   '  ' 

the  dials,  and  watched  those  six  minutes  sprint 
by.  I  never  saw  people  so  interested,  and  so 
anxious  to  help,  as  they  are  around  that  part  of 
the  country.  I  believe  that  the  bricks  and  mortar 
in  cities  crowd  people  so  close  together,  that 
they  don*t  have  room  to  stretch  out  helping  hands, 
—  and  helping  thoughts.  But  there^  —  why 
you  'd  have  thought  that  every  one  of  those  men 
simply  had  to  get  that  very  train;  —  and  several 
women  came  too,  and  tried  to  shove  things  along 
for  me.  I  think  they  'd  all  have  got  out  and 
helped  me  push  the  train,  if  it  would  have  done 
any  good. 

"Our  engine  started  up  before  the  six  minutes 
were  gone;  though  it  went  awfully  slow,  and 
things  began  to  look  as  if  I  might  make  the  train 
by  the  skin  of  my  teeth  after  all.  And  when  we 
did  pull  into  the  station,  before  we  had  quite 
stopped,  the  men  piled  off  with  the  type-writer 
and  me,  and  a  man  in  a  blue  uniform  called 
out:  —  'Train  for  Chicago  on  the  next  track! 
Down  the  stairway,  please,'  and  we  all  looked 
pleasant  and  made  a  wild  rush. 

"When  we  came  up  out  of  the  subway,  there 
stood  the  train,  and  I  said,  'For  Chicago.?' 


(   ( 


C    H     E    T  "         289 

"'That  train  's  gone,  Miss,'  said  the  guard; 
'but  you  can  get  on  this  and  go  to  Welland  and 
wait  for  it.' 

"'Wait  for  it?'  I  said.  I  began  to  think  that 
my  head  was  getting  wabbly. 

"'Yes,  Miss,  it  goes  around  by  the  Falls,  you 
know,  and  gets  to  Welland  half  an  hour  after 
this.     You  can  use  your  ticket.' 

"That  seemed  all  right,  so  I  climbed  on,  and 
two  of  the  men  from  East  Aurora  brought  in  my 
belongings  and  wished  me  good  luck,  and  I  was 
off  again.  It  was  a  parlor  car,  and  I  got  the 
incubus  over  close  to  the  window  and  festooned 
myself  around  it  once  more  and  thought  I  would 
be  all  right  for  the  hour  or  so  between  there  and 
Welland. 

"By  and  by  the  porter  came  in  and  looked 
suspiciously  at  my  drapery. 

"'Customs  has  to  examine  yo'  things,  Miss/ 
he  said. 

"I  unlooped  myself  and  handed  him  a  quar- 
ter, and  he  set  the  case  and  my  valise  beside 
another  chair,  where  there  was  a  man's  suit-case. 
He  did  n't  ask  for  my  keys,  but  he  had  the  suit- 
case open.     By  and  by  the  customs  officer  came 


290  '  *    C    H     E     T    " 

in  and  poked  over  a  few  things  in  the  suit-case 
and  passed  on;  and  the  incubus  sat  there,  as 
quiet  as  you  please,  all  the  way  to  Welland,  where 
the  porter  set  it  off  for  me,  and  I  began  to  wait 
for  my  train. 

*'The  station  was  a  brand  new  one,  about 
eight  by  ten  feet,  or  something  like  that,  and  there 
were  a  lot  of  men  in  working  clothes  and  tobacco 
juice  standing  around  the  platform  talking  things 
over,  or  just  leaning  back  and  thinking  about 
them.  I  never  saw  so  many  men  leaning  their 
backs  against  things  for  so  long  a  time  before 
in  my  life.  It  seemed  as  if  they  must  think  that 
the  side  walls  of  the  new  building  were  made  to 
lie  on,  and  they  were  testing  them  to  see  which 
board  was  the  softest.  There  was  an  old  lady 
there,  too,  and  she  told  me  all  about  every  sick- 
ness that  every  member  of  her  family  had  had 
since  they  arrived,  and  was  just  starting  in  on  the 
neighbors,  when  my  train  came. 

"It  stopped  with  all  the  mail  cars  and  day 
coaches,  and  such  things,  right  beside  me,  and 
away  off  on  the  horizon  was  the  car  that  I  belonged 
to.  The  old  lady  had  kept  me  so  busy  that  I 
had  n't  thought  of  a  plan  for  getting  aboard,  -^ 


"   C    H     E    T   "         291 

and  I  was  suddenly  up  against  it!  Not  a  porter 
was  in  sight.  I  grabbed  my  load  of  'CARE'  and 
tried  to  drag  it;  but  I  had  only  one  hand  to  spare, 
and  it  would  n't  budge.  I  looked  around, 
and  there  was  every  one  of  those  weary  men  lean- 
ing up  against  the  wall  and  watching  me. 

"  I  got  enthusiastic  all  of  a  sudden.  '  Please, 
one  of  you  come  and  help  me  with  this,'  I  called; 
—  and  not  one  of  them  stirred,  —  they  just  looked 
a  little  interested  and  curious. 

"'I  '11  pay  you,  of  course,'  I  said. 

"At  that,  one  of  them  straightened  up  part 
way  and  thought  about  it,  and  then  came  over 
and  picked  up  the  type-writer  and  sauntered  down 
toward  the  rear  of  the  train,  and  I  followed. 
In  a  minute  a  porter  in  a  white  coat  came  running 
toward  us  and  grabbed  the  case  and  hurried  me 
to  my  car;  and  the  man  kept  along  fast  enough 
until  I  had  gotten  a  quarter  out  of  my  purse, 
and  then  he  dropped  back. 

"I  took  out  a  fifty-cent  piece  at  the  same  time, 
thinking  that  I  had  a  good  chance  to  get  on  the 
right  side  of  the  porter,  early;  and  when  he 
placed  the  case  in  my  section,  I  handed  him  the 
money. 


292  *  '    C    H     E     T    '  ' 

"He  thanked  me,  and  grinned,  and  I  asked 
for  a  paper  bag  for  my  hat. 

"'Oh,  ah  ain't  de  portah,  Miss,'  he  said; 
*  Ah'm  fum  de  dinin'-cah'  —  and  he  melted  away, 
while  I  fished  for  another  half-dollar  to  pay  the 
nightmare's  expenses.  When  the  real  porter 
came,  I  handed  it  to  him,  and  looked  pleasant, 
and  he  did  n't  appear  to  notice  the  type-writer, 
and  as  there  was  n't  another  passenger  in  the  car, 
I  thought  that  my  troubles  were  over;  —  but  I 
had  n't  counted  upon  the  conscience  of  the  Pull- 
man conductor! 

"He  came  in,  he  spied  it,  and  he  looked 
shocked  and  astonished,  and  said  that  it  could  n't 
stay.  He  said  that  it  should  have  been  checked, 
and  I  agreed  with  him,  but  said  that  I  could  n't 
seem  to  find  a  baggage  master  of  the  same  opinion. 

"He  said  it  would  cost  him  a  fifteen-day  lay- 
off if  an  inspector  should  see  it. 

"I  mentioned  the  fact  that  there  weren't  any 
inspectors  on  the  car  just  then,  nor  any  one  else, 
and  that,  consequently,  it  was  n't  crowding  any 
one  so  as  to  notice. 

"He  said  that  didn't  make  any  difference, — 
that  he  had  been  laid  off  fifteen  days  once  before 


"   C    H    E    T  '  '         293 

on  a  smaller  grip  than  that;  and  he  could  n't 
afford  it.  He  seemed  to  have  a  morbid  suspicion 
that  there  was  an  inspector  peering  in  at  one  of 
the  ventilators,  or  somewhere. 

"I  told  him  if  he  'd  put  it  up  on  the  seat,  I  'd 
sit  on  it,  if  that  would  help  any;  but  it  did  n't 
seem  to,  and  he  went  away  mourning,  and  returned 
to  mourn,  and  sat  down  behind  me  and  mourned, 
and  in  front  of  me  and  mourned.  He  could  n't 
sit  down  beside  me  or  opposite  me,  because  there 
was  n't  any  room  for  his  feet.  I  did  n't  dare  to 
try  to  tip  him;  for  I  was  afraid  that  conductors 
were  above  that  sort  of  thing,  and  I  did  n't  want 
to  make  him  feel  any  worse;  so  I  sat  and  stared 
at  the  'Fragile,  WITH  CARE,'  and  felt  as  if  his 
wife  and  sixteen  children  were  going  to  starve 
to  death  on  my  account;  and  every  time  the 
train  stopped,  I  held  my  breath  for  fear  that  an 
inspector  would  come  in  and  say,  'Off  with  his 
fifteen  days!'  —  and  I  could  fairly  hear  those 
hungry  children  weep. 

"Well,  neither  the  inspector  nor  any  one  else 
came  into  the  car,  and  at  last  we  got  to  Hyde 
Park,  at  ten  o'clock  at  night.  The  train  stopped 
with  my  car  away  down  in  Indiana  somewhere; 


294  '  '    C     H     E     T   '  * 

—  at  least  it  was  n't  within  a  block  of  the  entrance 
of  the  Hyde  Park  station,  and  was  out  among  the 
tracks,  more  than  a  hundred  feet  from  the  nearest 
end  of  the  platform.  No  one  else  got  off  and 
there  was  n't  a  light  out  there  in  the  wilder- 
ness. The  porter  set  the  case  down  beside  me, 
and  picked  up  His  foot-stool  and  swung  aboard 
the  train,  and  it  drew  away  and  left  me  there  in  the 
darkness. 

"Clear  down  on  the  platform,  where  the  lights 
were,  I  could  see  Uncle  Fred,  watching  each  car 
as  it  went  by,  and  wondering  why  I  had  n't  come,  as 
per  my  telegram;  but  he  could  n't  see  me,  away  off 
there  in  the  dark;  and  so,  when  the  train  had  rum- 
bled over  the  viaduct,  he  started  for  the  entrance. 

"I  felt  like  sitting  down  on  'Jonah'  and  weep- 
ing. I  did  n't  though.  I  made  sure  that  the 
incubus  was  beside  the  track,  instead  of  between 
the  rails,  and  then  I  made  a  wild  run  after  Uncle 
Fred's  retreating  figure.  He  had  gotten  down 
the  steps,  and  was  just  going  through  the  turnstile, 
when  I  caught  him,  and  you  never  saw  any  one 
look  so  astonished  in  your  life. 

"'Where  on  earth  did  you  drop  from.'*'  he 
asked,  his  eyes  popping  away  out. 


'  '    C    H     E    T   '  *         295 

"'Oh,  I  just  walked  in  from  Indiana,'  I  said. 
'Come,  you  have  to  go  back  after  my  type-writer.' 

"'Where  is  it  ?'    he    asked. 

"'Just  about  on  the  State-line,  I  guess,'  —  and 
he  followed  me  back. 

"When  we  got  somewhere  near  where  it  ought 
to  be,  he  lit  a  pocket  fuse,  so  as  to  find  it;  and  when 
at  last  it  struck  his  eye,  his  face  lighted  up  with 
appreciation. 

"'Well,  look  at  the  fine  type-writer  case!'  he 
cried;   'Now  you  are  sensible!"* 


CHAPTER  XIV 

BESS   AND   I   GO   SHOPPING 

TT  was  the  middle  of  October  when  Bess  got 
home,  and  from  that  time  on,  the  days  fairly 
flew,  until,  before  we  knew  it,  Christmas  was 
looming  up  about  three  weeks  off.  She  and  I 
got  to  talking  about  it  one  Saturday  early  in 
December. 

"What  you  going  to  give  your  father  ? "  I  asked. 

"I  bought  him  one  very,  very  fine  handker- 
chief in  each  town  I  was  in  this  Fall,  and  I  've 
been  embroidering  his  signature  on  them." 

"His  initials,  you  mean,"  I  grinned. 

"No,  I  don't,  I  mean  his  signature.  I  took 
it  off  of  the  bottom  of  a  letter,  with  carbon-paper, 
and  worked  over  it." 

"Forger!"    I  said. 

Bess  laughed.  "  It  was  awfully  hard  to  do,  for 
the  letters  were  so  little  and  uneven;  but  they 
looked  all  right  when  they  were  done,  and  he 
thinks  they  're  fine.' 

"He  does .?  You  have  n't  shown  them  to 
him.?" 

296 


'  '   C    H     E    T  '  '         297 

Bess  nodded.  "I  gave  them  to  him  the  last 
time  he  was  at  home." 

I  stared.  Bess  was  n't  the  kind  of  a  girl  who 
could  n't  keep  a  thing  to  herself,  or  wait  for  the 
proper  time.     "  What  did  you  do  it  for  .?"   I  asked. 

"Well,"  said  Bess,  "I  had  them  finished,  and 
I  did  n't  see  any  reason  for  'keeping  them  for  a 
month  or  so,  when  he  might  as  well  be  using  them. 
I  don't  see  the  sense  in  saving  up  all  your  kind- 
nesses to  do  in  a  bunch,  once  a  year.  Why  not 
scatter  them  along  a  little  V 

"  But  what  '11  you  do  Christmas  .''  He  '11  expect 
you  to  give  him  something  more  then." 

"No,  he  won't,"  said  Bess. 

"Oh,  you  told  him  they  were  a  Christmas 
present .?" 

"  Indeed  I  did  n't.  I  told  him  that  I  made  them 
for  him  because  I  love  him,  and  wanted  to  do  it, 
and  not  just  so  I  could  give  him  something  at 
some  particular  time,  only  because  he  'd  expect 
something,  and  everybody  else  would  be  giving 
things.  He  saw  the  point,  and  said  he  'd  a  lot 
rather  have  a  gift  just  when  the  feeling  prompted 
a  person  —  instead  of  from  habit,  or  from 
fashion." 


298         '  '   C    H     E    T   '  ' 

It  did  sound  sort  of  sensible,  and  I  remem- 
bered how  much  more  my  compasses  meant,  com- 
ing as  a  surprise,  and  only  because  she  knew  I 
wanted  them,  than  as  if  she  'd  held  them  back 
for  Christmas,  when  I  'd  have  been  expecting 
something.  Besides,  I  'd  had  a  chance  to  get  a 
lot  of  good  out  of  them  during  the  Fall. 

"  I  'm  going  to  give  Mother  a  gold  thimble," 
I  said.  "I  heard  her  say,  one  day  last  Summer, 
that  when  she  was  a  little,  little  girl,  she  wanted 
a  gold  thimble,  —  and  she  'd  wanted  one  ever 
since.  She  had  always  intended  to  get  one, 
but  people  kept  giving  her  silver  ones,  and 
keeping  her  supplied,  and  she  guessed  she  *d 
never  get  her  stock  low  enough  to  warrant  buying 
one  for  herself.  So  I  made  up  my  mind  that 
I  'd  get  her  a  gold  one  for  Christmas.  But  since 
she  's  lost  two  or  three  of  her  'stock,'  I  've  been 
desperately  worried  for  fear  she  would  buy  one 
herself,  before  the  time  came,  because  I  know 
she  's  needed  one.' 

"It  will  make  a  nice  gift,"  said  Bess. 

I  was  thinking.  "  Is  n't  it  funny,"  I  said,  at 
last,  "that  I  never  even  thought  of  getting  it  for 
hei:  right  then,  —  or  anyway,  as  soon  as  I  knew 


*  *   C    H     E    T  '  '         299 

she  needed  one  ?  I  had  the  money  and  could 
have  bought  the  thing  just  as  well  as  not,  but  all 
I  thought  of  was  what  a  nice  Christmas  gift  it 
would  make.  It  seems  sort  of  foolish,  when  you 
come  to  think  of  it,  does  n't  it  ?" 

"It  surely  does,"  said  Bess. 

I  thought  again.  ""Well,"  I  said,  "what 's  the 
matter  with  getting  it  right  now .?  We  have 
'em  in  the  store,  and  Dad  will  give  it  to  me  at 
cost.  She  's  only  got  one  left,  and  she  's  doing 
a  lot  of  embroidery  for  Christmas;  and  whenever 
she  picks  that  up,  her  thimble  is  up  in  the  sewing 
room,  in  her  work  basket;  and  when  she  goes  to 
darn  anything,  it 's  down  in  the  pocket  of  her 
embroidery  apron.  I  heard  her  say  the  other  day 
that  she  was  going  to  bore  a  hole  in  it  and  hang 
it  around  her  neck,  so  she  would  n't  wear  the 
stairs  out  so." 

"And  the  gold  one  would  be  perfectly  fine  to 
keep  with  her  embroidery  all  the  time,"  said  Bess. 

"Of  course  she  could  keep  it  there  after  Christ- 
mas," I  said.  I  was  n't  quite  ready  to  take  the 
Christmas  label  off  of  it,  after  all. 

"But  the  embroidery  will  be  all  done  then," 
said  Bess. 


300  '  '    C     H     E     T   '  ' 

I  knew  it  would;  for  Mother  only  does  it  when 
Christmas  comes  in  sight,  and  then  she  nearly 
sews  her  fingers  off  for  a  couple  of  months  and 
scarcely  goes  out  for  a  breath  of  air.  "I 
believe  I'll  get  it  now,"  I  said.  "Come  on 
down  to  the  store  with  me  and  help  pick  it 
out." 

Bess  agreed,  and  we  started.  At  first  we  chatted 
for  a  while,  and  then  Bess  got  to  thinking  and 
was  pretty  quiet  for  several  blocks.  By  and  by  she 
said :  —  "  Chet,  when  we  do  something  nice  for 
a  person,  we  always  like  that  person  better,  don't 
we.?" 

"Yep,"  I  said,  "I've  noticed  it." 

"Well,"  said  Bess,  slowly,  "there  's  one  person 
that  you  and  I  don't  like  as  well  as  we  ought  to." 

"Who.?"    said  I. 

"That  other  girl." 

I  did  n't  say  a  word. 

"It  's  up  to  us,  Chet,"  said  Bess.  "We  've  got 
to  get  ready  to  like  her,  anyway.  If  she  comes 
while  we  feel  this  way,  she  won't  have  a  fair  show, 
—  and  we  won't,  either.  We  '11  be  looking  for 
trouble  all  the  time,  even  if  we  try  not  to.  I've 
been  working  on  it,  but  I  don't  feel  like  hugging 


"   C    H     E    T   "         301 

her  yet;  —  and  sometimes  I  feel  distinctly  sour, 
when  I  think  of  her  coming." 

"I  feel  that  way  all  the  time,"  I  said.  "She  '11 
just  have  to  make  the  best  of  what  she  finds  when 
she  comes,  that 's  all.  I  'm  going  to  be  selfish 
and  take  it  the  way  that  will  be  easiest  for  me. 
I  have  n't  got  but  one  life  to  live." 

Bess  shook  her  head.  "We're  taking  it  the 
way  that  will  be  the  very  hardest  for  us  both,  and 
her  too.  It 's  a  great  deal  harder  to  be  sour  than 
to  be  sweet." 

"Not  for  me." 

"Yes  it  is.  When  a  thing  is  all  over  and  you 
come  to  average  it  up,  you  '11  find  that  all  of 
the  hard  things  have  come  of  the  sourness, 
—  and  all  of  the  easy  things  have  come  of  the 
sweetness." 

That  was  a  new  way  of  looking  at  it. 

"And  so  I  was  thinking,"  went  on  Bess,  "that 
if  we  each  of  us  want  to  do  something  for  the 
other,  —  not  for  Christmas,  but  for  friendship,  — 
the  really  best  thing  would  be  for  us  both  to  do 
something  for  that  other  girl." 

I  bit  some  of  the  ragged  edges  off  of  the  top  of 
my  lead  pencil.     "How  can  we?"    I  asked,  after 


302         "    C     H     E    T   '  ' 

a  while,  "She  hasn't  come  yet,  and  we  don't 
even  know  where  she  lives." 

"But  we  could  get  it  in  advance,  you  know." 
Bess  was  very  much  in  earnest.  "You  put  in 
whatever  you  were  going  to  spend  for  me,  and 
I  '11  put  in  what  I  was  going  to  spend  for  you,  and 
we  *11  club  together  and  get  something  to  have 
ready  for  her  when  she  comes." 

Somehow  I  liked  the  idea.  I  would  n't  have 
supposed  that  such  a  thing  would  look  good  to 
me,  but  it  did.  "What '11  we  get.?"  I  asked. 
"We  don't  know  what  sort  of  things  she  likes." 

"It  would  be  nice  to  get  something  for  her 
room,*'  said  Bess;  and  we  talked  it  over,  all  the 
way  to  the  store,  and  at  last  decided  upon  a  writ- 
ing desk,  if  we  could  get  one  to  fit  our  purses. 

Uncle  Rob  was  behind  the  counter  when  we 
went  in,  and  helped  us  to  choose  the  thimble,  and 
we  got  a  dandy,  and  then  waited  for  Dad  to  come 
in  and  tell  us  what  it  would  cost.  Of  course  I 
knew  the  cost  mark,  ordinarily,  but  the  one  we 
picked  out  seemed  to  have  been  marked  wrong, 
for  I  was  positive  that  it  cost  more  than  the  letters 
made  it.  While  we  were  waiting,  Bess  and  I 
browsed  around,  and  she  found  a  silver  key  ring 


*  '   C    H     E    T   '  '         303 

that  she  wanted,  and  put  her  hand  in  her  pocket 
for  her  purse,  —  and  it  was  n't  there. 

"Why,"  she  exclaimed,  '"'I  'm  perfectly  sure  I 
put  that  in  my  pocket  before  I  started!" —  and 
then  she  went  on  saying  some  things  about  noth- 
ing being  lost,  and  so  on,  as  if  she  were  trying  to 
reassure  herself,  while  she  was  looking  about  for  it. 
"Bess!"  said  Uncle  Rob,  looking  at  her  in  a 
surprised  way. 
Bess  bit  her  lip. 

"What's  the  matter?"  I  asked.  "It's  all 
right  for  her  to  use  her  Science  to  help  her  know 
it  is  n't  lost,  is  n't  it  ? " 

"  It  certainly  is,"  said  Uncle  Rob.  "  Bess,  you 
tell  him  what  was  the  trouble." 

"Partly  bad  manners,"  said  Bess,  shrugging 
her  shoulders.  "It 's  just  as  bad  manners  to  take 
your  dose  of  Christian  Science  out  loud  in  public, 
as  it  is  to  have  your  bottle  and  teaspoon  at  the 
table  and  take  your  dose  of  medicine  under  every- 
body's nose.  When  any  one  brings  his  medicine 
bottle  to  the  table,  every  one  else  feels  like  throw- 
ing plates  at  it;  and  when  you  talk  your  Science 
treatments  out  loud,  every  one  feels  like  throw- 
ing contradictory  thoughts  at  them." 


304  '  '    C     H     E    T    " 

"  I  wish  I  was  n't  so  material  in  my  thinking," 
I  said.  "I  believe  things  that  I  see;  no  matter 
how  hard  I  try  to  know  differently." 

"Do  you  really  believe  everything  you  see.''*' 
asked  Uncle  Rob.  We  had  some  new  clerks  in 
for  the  holidays,  and  so  he  was  not  so  very  busy 
just  then. 

"Why,  sure  I  do,"  I  said. 

"Some  one  has  said,  'Matter  is  experience.* 
When  you  look  down  a  long  stretch  of  railroad 
track,  you  see  the  rails  come  together  at  a  point 
in  the  distance,  don't  you?" 

"Yes." 

"But  do  they.?" 

"No." 

"But  you  might  think  that  they  did,  excepting 
for  experience,  might  you  not  V 

I  had  to  admit  that  I  probably  would.  "  But," 
I  said,  "if  I  see  anything  the  matter  with  m*?, 
that 's  different.  I  have  to  believe  that  scratch  on 
my  hand,  —  I  know  where  I  got  it,  too." 

"That 's  the  main  trouble,"  said  Uncle  Rob; 
"you  think  you  know  where  you  got  it;  —  and 
lots  of  times  you  hit  your  hand  and  think  you  've 
hurt  it,  until  you  look  and  see  that  there  is  n't 


*  '   C    H     E    T   '  '  305 

any  mark,  and  then  you  decide  that  you  have  n't, 
and  it  does  n't  bother  you  any  more.  Experience, 
based  upon  lack  of  understanding,  is  what  makes 
all  the  bother." 

"  But  how  can  I  help  believing  that  scratch  ? 
-T—  and  it  feels  sore  now  that  we  're  talking  about 
it,  too." 

Uncle  Rob  took  up  a  sheet  of  stiff  paper,  about 
six  by  nine  inches,  and  rolled  it  into  a  cone  which 
was  something  like  an  inch  and  a  quarter  across 
the  big  end,  and  three-fourths  of  an  inch  at  the 
little  end;  then  he  fastened  it  with  a  scrap  of 
gummed  paper  from  the  stamp  drawer,  and 
snipped  off  the  corner  at  the  top,  so  as  to  make  it 
straight  around. 

Bess  and  I  were  watching  him  curiously. 

"Now,  Chet,"  he  said,  "hold  the  big  end  of  this 
close  to  your  right  eye,  up  tight  against  it,  with  your 
eye  open  so  that  you  can  look  through." 

I  did. 

"Now  hold  your  left  hand  with  the  palm  toward 
your  face,  and  the  edge  of  your  hand  resting  against 
the  cone  at  about  two  inches  from  the  big  end. 
Now  keep  both  eyes  open,  and  what  do  you  see  ?" 

"A  hole  clear  through  the  palm  of  my  hand." 


3o6         '  '    C    H     E    T   '  ' 

"Are  you  sure  ?" 

"Yep.  I  can  see  my  hand  all  around  the  hole, 
just  as  plainly  as  I  ever  saw  anything  in  my  life, 
and  I  can  see  you  right  through  the  centre  of  it." 

"Does  it  hurt  any.?"   asked  Uncle  Rob. 

"Not  a  bit." 

"  I  '11  guarantee  that  it  would,  if  you  thought 
that  you  could  remember  the  experience  of  getting 
the  hole  there,  though,"  said  Uncle  Rob. 

I  was  interested.  "I  guess  you're  right,"  I 
said.  "  If  I  'd  shot  myself  in  the  hand,  and  it 
was  all  bandaged  up,  and  a  doctor  would  come  in 
with  one  of  these  things,  fixed  up  to  look  profes- 
sional, and  tell  me  that  it  was  a  sort  of  an  X-ray 
business  which  would  look  through  the  bandages 
and  show  me  the  condition  of  my  hand;  —  and 
I  looked  through  and  saw  what  I  see  now;  — 
why,  I  'd  think  I  was  maimed  for  life,  —  and  no 
one  could  tell  me  any  different,  because  I  could 
see  for  myself.  I  '11  bet  it  would  hurt  like  the 
dickens,  too;  —  and  if  it  did  n't,  I  'd  think  the 
nerves  were  paralyzed,  and  that  would  be  worse 
still." 

Uncle  Rob  laughed.  "Well, you  think  a  little 
about   matter  being  experience,"   he   said,   "and 


'  *   C    H     E    T  '  '         307 

then  eliminate  all  of  the  experiences  that  you  can't 
absolutely  and  infallibly  depend  upon,  —  and  see 
what  you  have  left.     It 's  worth  trying." 

Just  then  Dad  came  in  and  we  went  back  to 
the  thimble  case.  I  showed  him  the  one  that  we 
had  picked  out.  "All  right,"  said  Dad;  "You 
may  have  it  at  cost." 

"But  what  is  the  cost.'*"   I  asked. 

Dad  looked  disgusted.  "Chet,"  he  said, 
"you  've  known  that  cost  mark  for  five  years. 
What 's  the  matter  with  you  V 

"But  this  one  can't  be  marked  right,"  I  said. 
"I  know  it  cost  more  than  a  dollar  and  a  half." 

"Of  course  it  did,"  said  Dad. 

"  But  see, — *m-a-q,' —  that 's  what  it 's  marked." 

"Chet,"  he  said,  "haven't  you  any  eyes  or 
any  reasoning  powers  at  all  ?  Don't  you  see  that 
little  '2'  up  there  above  the  last  letter.?" 

"Yes;   but  what  does  it  mean  .?" 

"Well,  what  should  it  mean  excepting  that  it 
cost  just  twice  what  the  mark  says .?  Is  n't  that 
plain  enough  .?" 

"Yes,  when  you  know  it,"  I  said;  "but  you 
never  did  that  before." 

"Well,  such  a  lot  of  people  have  come  to  know 


3o8  "    C    H     E     T   " 

our  mark,  that  I  have  got  to  make  some  change 
in  it;  and  I  'm  marking  part  of  the  new  goods 
this  way.  It  *s  plain  enough  if  you  use  a  little 
common  sense." 

I  had  to  admit  that  it  was,  and  Uncle  Rob  put 
the  thimble  into  a  box  while  Bess  and  I  browsed 
some  more  among  the  new  Holiday  stuff.  After 
a  while  I  found  a  portfolio  that  I  wanted,  and 
looked  at  the  mark,  and  then  I  took  it  to  Uncle 
Rob.  "What  would  you  think  that  cost?"  I 
asked. 

"A  dollar  and  a  half,"  said  Uncle  Rob,  —  "the 
same  as  the  thimble  did  n't." 

"And  it's  marked  to  sell  at  one-twenty-five!" 

"  Better  buy  at  retail,"  said  Uncle  Rob.  "  But 
wait,  there  's  that  little  two-spot,  exactly  where  the 
other  one  was,  —  that  makes  it  cost  three  dollars." 

"Worse  and  worse!  But  what  do  you  suppose 
it  really  did  cost .?" 

"Can't  prove  it  by  me,"  said  Uncle  Rob,  shak- 
ing his  head. 

I  waited  until  Dad  came  up  the  store  again. 
"Say,  Dad,"  I  called;  "I  want  to  buy  this  port- 
folio." 

"Well  then,  why  don't  you  buy  it }"   said  Dad. 


*  *   C    H    E    T  '  '         309 

"I  —  I  don't  know  what  it  cost." 

Dad  came  over  to  the  counter.  "Well,  why 
don't  you  look  at  the  cost  mark,  Chester .?"  he  said. 

I  shook  my  head,  and  he  turned  the  portfolio 
over  and  put  the  point  of  his  pencil  on  the  ticket. 
"Can't  you  see  that.?"  he  asked.  "What  does 
that  letter  stand  for.?" 

"One." 

"And  that?" 

"Five." 

"And  that.?" 

"Naught." 

"Well  then,  what  is  it.?" 

"A  dollar  and  a  half." 

"Well  then,  what 's  the  matter.?" 

"Nothing,  only  it's  marked  to  sell  at  one- 
twenty-five." 

Dad  pulled  it  closer  to  him;  then  he  said, 
"Oh!"  and  put  his  pencil  on  the  little  "2." 
"Can't  you  see  that .?"  he  asked. 

"Yep." 

"Well  then,  what  more  do  you  want?  Can't 
you  divide  a  dollar  and  a  half  by  two  ?  If  you 
can't  do  it  in  your  head,  here  *s  my  pencil,"  and 
he  looked  sarcastic. 


3IO         "   C    H     E    T   " 

"Oh,  then  it  cost  seventy-five  cents  ?" 

"Why,  certainly,"  said  Dad.  "I  do  wish  that 
you  would  try  to  use  some  common  sense,  Chester, 
instead  of  having  to  have  everything  explained  to 
you,  as  if  you  were  five  years  old!"  —  and  then 
he  went  off  down  the  store  again. 

When  I  had  my  packages  done  up  and  Bess  had 
her  key  ring,  —  she  had  found  her  purse  in  her 
blouse  instead  of  her  pocket,  —  we  went  over  to 
the  furniture  store  to  look  for  a  desk.  We  got 
just  about  discouraged,  because  everything  was 
so  expensive,  and  were  about  ready  to  think 
that  we  would  have  to  decide  upon  something 
else,  when  the  furniture  man  said, — 

"  Say,  I  Ve  got  one  here  that  I  can  sell  you 
cheap  if  you  can  use  it.  The  pigeon-holes  got 
broken  in  shipping;  and  the  house  gave  me  a 
rebate  on  it,  rather  than  have  it  sent  back.  I  'm 
no  good  at  little  delicate  jobs  like  that;  —  I  can 
tackle  a  sofa  or  a  table,  but  a  thing  of  that  kind 
would  take  me  longer  than  it's  worth;  —  and 
it 's  been  here  more  'n  a  year,  now.  If  you  think 
you  can  fix  it  up,  you  can  come  down  here  and 
do  it,  and  use  my  tools,  —  and  you  can  have  it 
at  your  own  price." 


*  '   C    H     E    T  '  '         311 

It  was  a  mighty  pretty  little  oak  desk,  with  a  lid 
that  closed  up  and  locked,  and  I  knew  at  a  glance 
that  it  would  be  just  fun  to  make  new  pigeon- 
holes for  it,  —  and  Bess  and  I  jumped  at  the  bar- 
gain, quick. 

I  could  n't  go  to  work  at  it  until  after  Christ- 
mas, for  I  had  to  put  in  all  of  my  spare  time  at  the 
store  through  the  Holiday  season;  but  when  that 
was  over,  I  went  down  to  the  furniture  shop  for 
three  Saturdays  and  worked  on  it;  —  and  when 
it  was  finished,  no  one  would  ever  have  guessed 
but  that  it  was  perfectly  fresh  from  the  factory. 

I  thought  a  good  deal  while  I  was  working  on 
it,  too,  —  about  how  queer  it  was  that  I  should 
be  giving  all  this  time  to  fixing  something  for  that 
other  girl,  —  when  I  had  made  up  my  mind  to 
hate  her.  And  that  made  me  think  of  some 
Chinese  characters  that  I  had  seen  explained;  how 
certain  marks  meant  certain  things,  and  then  they 
were  grouped  together  to  mean  other  ideas;  and 
the  marks  which  went  to  make  up  the  word 
"hatred,"  meant,  when  separated,  "crookedness 
of  the  heart."  And  crookedness  in  people  is 
deformity,  —  and  every  one  dreads  and  turns 
away  from  deformity.     It  seemed  queer  to  think 


312         '  *    C    H     E    T   '  ' 

that  I  had  been  wilHng  to  let  myself  be  deformed 
that  way,  —  when  I  did  n't  have  to  be  It  would 
be  worse  to  have  your  heart  crooked,  than  your 
spine,  too,  —  and  it  would  show  just  as  plainly, 
when  it  had  once  worked  to  the  surface. 

And  I  got  to  thinking  pretty  soberly  about  that 
other  girl,  —  how  she  did  n't  have  any  home,  and 
was  coming  among  strangers  and  did  n't  know 
what  they  would  be  like,  —  and  probably  she  was 
feeling  sort  of  worried  and  frightened  about  it; 
and  I  began  to  see  how  much  bigger  a  thing  it 
was  in  her  life  than  in  mine,  because  it  would  all 
be  new  to  her,  —  a  new  place,  and  new  people, 
and  everything  different  from  what  she  had  been 
used  to;  and  I  began  to  see  that  it  was  up  to  me 
to  help  her  all  I  could;  —  and  I  worked  more 
decent  thoughts  into  those  little  pigeon-holes  than 
I  ever  got  into  line  in  double  that  time  in  my  life 
before. 

Bess  was  making  a  writing  set  for  the  desk, — 
a  blotting  pad  with  leather  corners,  and  a  blotter 
and  penwiper.  She  did  a  lot  of  the  same  sort  of 
thinking  over  her  work;  and  when  we  came  to 
compare  notes,  we  found  that  we  'd  spent  our 
money  to  mighty  good  advantage,  and  given  each 


(  ( 


C    H    E    T  '  '         313 

other  a  lot  more  that  was  worth  while  than  we 
were  giving  to  that  other  girl. 

We  did  n't  tell  anybody  about  the  desk,  be- 
cause we  did  n't  want  to  have  to  talk  about  her. 
We  'd  got  to  feeling  pretty  respectably  toward 
her  —  and  we  did  n't  want  anybody  else  butting 
in;  so  we  left  it  at  the  furniture  store  until  we 
should  be  ready  for  it. 

The  month  of  January  dragged  some,  as  it 
always  does;  but  February  was  a  short  month 
and  we  sailed  over  that,  just  touching  the  high 
places.  I  read  a  good  deal  in  the  Christian 
Science  text-book  during  the  winter  evenings;  and 
found  a  lot  of  diflFerence  between  looking  for 
things  that  I  could  understand,  and  looking  for 
things  to  quarrel  with.  It  was  perfectly  astonish- 
ing how  friendly  the  difficult  ones  became,  when 
I  had  made  friends  with  their  relations!  —  and 
I  got  real  chummy  with  the  best  society  of  thoughts 
that  I  'd  ever  come  into  contact  with;  —  and  some 
of  them  I  had  n't  even  had  a  bowing  acquaintance 
with  before;  —  and  there  were  some  perfectly  fine 
ones  that  I  had  been  in  a  habit  of  throwing  stones 
at  whenever  I  caught  a  glimpse  of  them,  that  I 
found  now  to  be  a  lot  better  company  than  all 


314  '  *    C     H     E     T   '  ' 

the  companions  that  I  had  ever  had  before  in  my 
life.  I  used  to  ask  Bess  a  lot  of  questions  —  not 
so  that  I  could  contradict  them,  but  because  I 
wanted  to  know  how  she  looked  at  them. 

One  day  I  said,  "  Bess,  if  the  heahng  is  n't  the 
most  important  part  of  Christian  Science,  why 
could  n't  a  person  be  a  Christian  Scientist  and 
leave  that  part  out  of  it  .f"' 

"Well,  for  goodness'  sake,"  said  Bess;  "what 
do  you  suppose  is  the  reason  that  Christian  Scien- 
tists use  it,  when  they  are  sick .?" 

"Well,"  I  said,  "I  suppoes  it  is  because  you 
think  it  would  be  wrong  to  have  a  doctor,  —  and 
because  you  want  to  be  consistent  and  —  "  I 
could  n't  think  of  any  other  reason. 

"  You  've  left  out  a  rather  important  point,'* 
she  said 

"What  is  it?" 

"  That  they  wish  to  get  well!" 

"Oh!" 

"  —  and  that,  quickly,  —  and  to  stay  well. 
I  think  that  is  a  fairly  good  reason  in  itself. 
Don't  you.?" 

"  But  they  don't  —  always." 

"  Do  doctors'  patients  —  always  V* 


(  ( 


C    H    E    T  '  '         315 

"No.  But,  honestly,  if  you  were  very,  very 
sick,  would  n't  you  be  afraid  not  to  have  a  physi- 
cian?" 

"  Why,  Chet,  I  'd  a  million  times  rather  trust 
the  case  to  a  Christian  Science  practitioner.  Not 
but  that  the  doctors  are  honest  and  noble  and 
good,  but  I  believe  that  Christian  Science  treats 
the  real  causes,  clear  down  at  the  foundation  of 
the  trouble,  —  like  taking  away  the  reason  for  the 
sorrow,  instead  of  putting  something  in  your  eyes 
to  stop  the  tears." 

"But,"  I  said,  "there  are  some  other  ways  of 
healing  without  medicine,  —  and  they  seem  to 
really  cure  people  sometimes,  too.  Why  are  n't 
those  as  good  as  Christian  Science,  if  they  heal  V* 

"Well,"  said  Bess,  "suppose  that  when  you 
were  a  little,  wee  boy,  you  had  wakened  up  one 
night  and  thought  that  there  was  a  tiger  under 
your  bed.  And  suppose  you  had  gotten  up  and 
run  to  your  mother  and  told  her  about  it,  and  she 
had  comforted  you  and  told  you  that  there  was  no 
tiger  there,  and  explained  to  you  that  there  were 
no  tigers  loose  in  this  country,  and  even  if  there 
had  been,  one  could  n't  get  into  the  house  and 
under  your  bed;  and  then  she  would  take  a  light 


3i6         '  *    C     H     E     T   '  ' 

and  go  with  you  and  show  you  that  there  was 
nothing  there,  and  could  be  nothing  there,  and 
that  there  was  nothing  to  be  afraid  of.  Then  you 
would  know  the  truth,  and  would  n't  have  any 
more  fear,  and  every  time  that  you  wakened  up 
frightened,  after  that,  you  'd  know  that  there  was 
nothing  to  be  afraid  of,  and  the  fright  would  leave 
you  right  off. 

"Now,  suppose  that  when  you  were  first  frigh- 
tened, you  had  gone  to  some  one  else  instead  of 
your  mother,  and  he  had  humored  you  and  said: 
—  *Oh,  dear  me,  is  there  really  a  tiger  under  your 
bed  ?  Is  n't  that  dreadful  ?  We  '11  have  to  shoot 
him.'  And  then  he  'd  get  a  gun  and  fire  under 
the  bed  and  then  run  back  to  you  and  slam  the 
door.  And  the  next  morning  there  would  be  no 
tiger  there,  and  you  would  think  that  it  had  been 
driven  away;  and  your  fear  would  be  gone.  But 
the  next  night  you  would  waken  up  as  before,  and 
be  sure  that  the  tiger  had  come  back,  and  you  would 
run  to  the  person  again,  in  a  panic,  and  it  would 
have  to  be  driven  out  once  more,  —  and  again 
next  week  and  again  next  month,  —  and  you 
would  get  so  that  you  would  be  in  constant  fear 
of  it,  —  and    you   would   suffer    as    much    as    if 


'  *   C    H     E    T   "         317 

there  really  were  a  tiger  to  come  and  be  driven 
away. 

"Now  do  you  see  the  difference  ?  In  both  cases, 
the  fear  is  quieted,  and  you  go  back  to  sleep. 
With  your  mother's  treatment,  the  ignorance  from 
which  you  were  suffering  is  destroyed  right  at 
the  start,  and  so  it  does  n't  come  back  again; 
or  if  it  seems  to  for  a  moment,  as  soon  as  you 
remember  the  facts,  it  is  gone,  and  you  get  out 
of  the  habit  of  thinking  of  it.  But  with  the  other 
way  of  handling  it,  the  person  is  working  all  the 
time  to  drive  out  the  tiger,  instead  of  proving  that 
there  is  n't  any;  and  so  that  tiger  or  another  one 
keeps  on  coming  back  —  and  back,  and  you  never 
do  get  over  being  frightened  about  it;  and  by 
and  by  the  fear  of  it  may  eat  you  up,  even  if 
there  is  n't  any  tiger  to  do  the  job." 

"I  see,"  I  said.  "To  be  healed  just  physically 
by  any  means,  is  only  to  try  to  drive  away  the 
tiger;  —  but  to  know  the  truth  and  in  that  vfzy 
wipe  out  the  thing  that  you  called  sickness,  — 
is  to  get  rid  of  the  article  that  made  a  noise  like 
a  tiger,  for  keeps.  He  canU  come  back  when  you 
know  he  is  nt!" 

"Good,"  said  Bess.     "I  *m  glad  you  *re  doing 


3i8  '  *    C     H     E    T   '  ' 

some  thinking  Lots  of  folks  seem  to  think  that 
the  idea  of  the  text-book  is  — 

"  *  Open  your  mouth  and  shut  your  eyes, 

And  I  'II  give  you  something  to  make  you  wise/ 

but  it  is  n't  that  way  at  all;  —  it  gives  you  some- 
thing to  think  about.  No  one  ever  got  wisdom 
by  swallowing  it  whole,  any  more  than  he  'd  get 
a  vocabulary  by  swallowing  a  dictionary;  —  it 
comes  only  through  studying,  and  working,  and 
contemplating,  and  proving.  If  you  don't  chew 
things,  you  '11  get  mental  indigestion,  —  unless 
you  're  just  shovelling  them  into  a  bag  and  looking 
pleasant,  the  way  Bean-stalk  Jack  did  with  the 
hasty  pudding." 

I  got  up  and  stretched  my  arms.  "  Bess,"  I 
said,  "that  word  'chew'  reminds  me  of  some- 
thing. You  get  the  chocolate  and  sugar  in  shape, 
and  I  '11  crack  the  butternuts." 


CHAPTER  XV 

THAT  OTHER  GIRL  AGAIN 

T  WAS  awfully  busy  during  March.  Just  as 
soon  as  there  was  a  breath  of  Spring  in  the 
air,  and  the  kids  were  starting  in  with  stilts  and 
marbles,  we  boys  got  to  figuring  on  our  base-ball 
team.  The  team  had  been  a  dead  one  the  year 
before,  and  we  could  n't  quite  make  up  our  minds 
whether  to  disband  and  quit  for  keeps,  or  to  make 
another  try  for  it.  We  had  been  whipped  by  every 
club  in  the  neighborhood  last  year,  and  had 
scrapped  among  ourselves  until  I  actually  believe 
that  every  fellow  was  glad  when  he  struck  out, 
just  to  spite  the  team.  It  was  plain  to  be  seen 
that  we  'd  got  to  do  something  different,  or  else 
quit  entirely.  Some  of  us  were  for  quitting,  and 
some  others  for  beginning  early  and  doing  a  lot 
of  practice  work  and  trying  to  get  into  shape  to  do 
some  good  playing  by  the  time  the  season  opened. 
I  was  with  the  latter  bunch;  I  do  hate  to  give  up 
that  I  'm  beaten! 

We  were  talking  it  over  one  day  and  scrapping, 
as  usual,  when  one  of  the  boys  came  out  with  an 

319 


320  "    C     H     E    T   " 

idea.  There  was  a  fellow  in  town,  staying  with 
some  relatives  of  his,  who  used  to  be  in  the  Na- 
tional League,  and  we  boys  always  walked  back- 
ward to  stare  at  him,  whenever  he  passed.  Well, 
the  boy  with  the  idea  put  it  this  way:  he  said, 
"  Let 's  go  and  see  if  we  can't  get  Mason  to 
coach  our  club  for  a  few  weeks!"  What  Mason 
did  n't  know  about  base-ball,  was  n't  worth  know- 
ing, for  he  'd  done  some  great  work  when  he 
was  on  the  diamond,  had  been  short-stop,  —  and 
if  anybody  has  to  keep  busy,  and  have  his  wits 
about  him  every  second  of  the  time,  it 's  the  short- 
stop in  a  base-ball  game. 

Well,  sir,  we  did  n't  know  whether  he  would 
be  willing  to  help  us  out  or  not,  but  we  appointed 
a  committee  to  go  and  see  him  right  then,  —  and 
we  waited  while  they  went. 

They  came  back  on  the  dead  run,  and  said  he  'd 
be  glad  to  do  it,  and  would  n't  charge  us  a  cent, 
either.  You  bet  we  had  a  regular  jamboree 
celebrating,  that  afternoon. 

So,  from  that  time  on,  I  was  kept  busy  after 
school  and  Saturdays,  and  the  month  went  mighty 
fast.  Bob  Stevens  was  away  when  we  started  in 
to  U^in  wit;h  quj  coach,  and  the  day  he  got  back, 


"   C    H    E    T  "         321 

which  was  Saturday,  he  came  out  and  sat  on  the 
fence  of  the  lot  where  we  were  practising.  He 
did  n't  say  much,  but  he  watched,  with  his  chin 
in  the  air,  and  I  knew  he  was  thinking  crosswise. 
When  I  started  home,  he  walked  along  with  me. 

"  We  *re  doing  pretty  good  work,  don't  you 
think  .?"  I  asked. 

"Yes,"  said  Bob;  "  — a  lot  better  than  last 
year." 

"  We  got  some  good  plays  in  to-day,  did  n't 
we.?" 

"Yep.  I  'm  not  going  in  for  ball  this  year. 
I  brought  back  a  bigger  electric  engine,  and  I  've 
got  some  books,  and  I  'm  going  into  that  for  all 
it 's  worth.  I  always  did  intend  to  be  an  elec- 
trician, and  I  'm  going  to  put  in  this  Spring  and 
Summer  studying  and  experimenting." 

"Good!"  I  said.  "You  know  a  lot  more 
about  it  than  any  other  fellow  in  school,  now." 

"That  is  n't  saying  much.  I  saw  a  good  deal 
of  electric  machinery  while  I  was  gone,  though, 
and  picked  up  some  ideas.  Chet,  it 's  the  most 
wonderful  thing  in  the  world,  —  it  really  is." 

"Wish  you  were  going  to  be  on  the  ball  team, 
though,"  I  said. 


322  '  '   C     H     E    T   '  ' 

Bob  shook  his  head.  "  I  made  up  my  mind  not 
to,  before  I  came  home;  but  if  I  had  n't,  I  'd 
have  decided  that  way  to-day." 

"  You  would  ?  Why  ?  Are  n't  we  doing  good 
work.?" 

"Yes,  but  I  would  n't  let  any  one  boss  me  the 
way  you  let  Mason  boss  you." 

My  jaw  dropped.  "Why,  for  goodness'  sake," 
I  said,  "what  do  you  suppose  we  let  him  tell  us 
what  to  do,  for .? " 

"Well,  I  would  n't  let  any  one  tell  me,  no  mat- 
ter what  it  was  for.  I  want  freedom!  I  don't 
give  any  one  the  right  to  tell  me  what  to  do,  — 
and  you  all  obey  just  as  meekly  as  little  lambs." 

"And  why  should  n't  we  .?  Does  n't  he  know 
a  thousand  times  as  much  about  base-ball  as  all 
of  the  rest  of  us  put  together .?  Has  n't  he  had 
the  practice,  and  the  experience  .?  That 's  what 
we  wanted  him  to  help  us  for,  —  so  he  could 
advise  us  and  tell  us  the  best  way  to  get  results. 
We  used  to  make  errors  right  and  left,  because  we 
couldn't  see  far  enough  ahead  in  the  game;  — 
but  he  's  got  us  to  thinking  quick  and  thinking 
right.  Even  if  we  can't  always  see  at  a  glance 
why  we   should   do   as   he   says,  —  when   we  've 


*  *   C    H    E    T  "         323 

done  it,  we  see  the  reason  in  the  end;  for  it  always 
proves  to  be  the  very  best  thing  to  be  done  under 
the  circumstances.  We  don't  have  to  obey  him 
for  one  second  if  we  don't  want  to,  —  we  can  just 
quit,  but  when  we  look  at  the  sort  of  work  that 
we  're  doing  this  year,  compared  to  what  we  did 
last  year,  —  well,  you  bet  you  don't  see  any  of 
us  quitting,  nor  talking  back,  either!  We  do 
what  he  says,  because  we  know  it 's  the  way  for 
us  to  get  to  playing  winning  ball,  that 's  why! 
I  've  got  plenty  of  spirit  and  independence, 
but  I  'm  not  too  conceited  to  do  what  a  person 
advises,  when  I  've  accepted  him  as  a  coach 
just  for  the  very  reason  that  I  want  him  to 
tell  me, —  because  he  understands  better  than 
I  do." 

"Well,"  said  Bob,  "it's  your  own  affair,  of 
course,  but  it  looks  funny  to  me  to  see  you  taking 
another  person's  'say  so.'" 

Just  then  Bess  came  around  the  comer  on  her 
wheel.     She  jumped  off  and  we  waited  for  her. 

Bob  was  in  one  of  his  critical  moods  that  day, 
and  as  soon  as  she  had  said  "Hello,"  he  started 
in.  "  Bess,  I  heard  you  'd  got  to  be  a  Christian 
Scientist." 


324  '  '    C     H     E     T   '  ' 

"Yes,"  said  Bess,  quietly,  "I  am  a  Christian 
Scientist." 

I  glanced  at  her.  Her  face  was  pink  and  her 
eyes  were  shining,  and  I  saw  that  her  hand  was 
gripped  hard  on  her  handle-bar.  I  knew  that  it 
was  just  about  the  biggest  moment  of  her  life. 
It  was  the  first  time  that  she  had  felt  worthy  to 
stand  up  and  say,  —  "Yes,  I  am  a  Christian 
Scientist,"  and  I  wanted  to  pat  her  on  the  back. 

"Why.?"    asked  Bess,  after  a  moment. 

"Oh,  nothing,"  said  Bob,  "only  I  was  sur- 
prised, because  I  thought  you  were  too  clear- 
headed to  look  at  anybody  that  way." 

"What  way.?" 

"Oh,  to  worship  any  human  being,  and  think 
she  is  supernatural,  and  all  that,  the  way  Christian 
Scientists  do  their  leader." 

Bess  did  n't  even  look  cross.  "  Bob,"  she 
said,  "who  has  done  more  than  any  one  else  in 
the  world  to  help  you  to  be  what  you  most  want 
to  be.?" 

"Edison,"  said  Bob. 

"How?" 

"Why,  by  his  work,  and  his  study,  and  his 
demonstration  of  wl\at  can  be  done,  and  his  under-^ 


*  *   C    H    E    T   "         325 

standing!  Lcx)k  at  the  time  that  man  has  put  in, 
and  the  experiments,  and  the  successes.  He  's 
the  most  wonderful  man  alive!" 

"And  are  n't  you  grateful  to  him  ?" 

"  /im  I  ?  Well,  say,  how  many  years  do  you 
think  it  would  have  taken  me  to  find  out  for  myself 
the  things  that  he  's  worked  out  and  made  plain 
for  me,  and  so  I  can  use  them  ?  I  could  n't  have 
done  it  in  a  life-time;  —  but  he's  put  his  life- 
time in  it,  and  I  can  have  for  the  mere  reading, 
the  conclusions  of  all  of  his  years  of  study  and 
experiment.  Because  of  his  thinking  and  his 
investigation,  and  because  he  is  too  generous  to 
keep  it  to  himself,  I  can  start  now  with  years  and 
years  of  work  to  the  good.  Well,  I  should  say  I 
am  grateful!" 

"And  you're  not  ashamed  of  studying  his 
methods  and  demonstrations  ?  You  're  willing 
that  every  one  should  know  that  you  think  him 
a  wonderful  man,  and  that  you  are  indebted  to 
him?" 

"Well,  I  'd  like  to  get  up  on  the  house-top  and 
talk  about  it!" 

"  But  the  biggest  thing  of  all  is  your  gratitude, 

is  n't  it?" 


326         *  '    C    H     E    T   '  ' 

"It  sure  is!" 

"Well,  that  is  the  way  that  we  Christian  Scien- 
tists feel,  Bob.  We  are  grateful  more  than  any- 
thing else,  —  grateful  from  the  bottoms  of  our 
hearts  to  her  for  giving  us  the  results  of  her  study 
and  work  and  demonstration.  We  see  the  years 
of  wrongly  directed  effort,  and  unhappiness,  and 
pain,  that  she  has  saved  us  from,  and  the  start 
that  she  has  given  us  toward  doing  our  work  right 
for  all  time,  because  she  has  shared  with  us  the 
fruit  of  her  labor;  —  and  why  should  n't  we  be 
grateful,  and  why  should  n't  we  be  glad  to  admit 
that  we  are  indebted  to  her  for  the  help  that  has 
come  to  us  ^  If  you  feel  that  way  about  Edison, 
who  has  helped  you  in  just  material  things,  is  n't 
it  natural  that  we  should  feel  the  same,  only  ever 
and  ever  so  much  stronger,  since  she  has  helped 
us  to  know  how  to  live  best  for  all  time  .?" 

"But,"  said  Bob,  "the  feeling  that  I  have  is 
just  wholesome  gratitude,  —  and  a  good  deal  of 
reverence  and  wonder,  of  course,  —  for  one  who 
has  accomplished  what  he  has,  and  given  it  to  the 
world;  but  I  don't  worship  him,  nor  think  him 
supernatural." 

"And  neither  do  we  either  worship  our  leader, 


(   ( 


C    H    E    T  '  '         327 

or  think  her  supernatural.  Did  you  ever  hear  a 
Christian  Scientist  say  that  we  did  ?" 

"No." 

"Well,  don't  you  think  that  Christian  Scien- 
tists ought  to  know  better  than  other  people  what 
they  themselves  believe  ?" 

"Sure." 

"Then  listen  to  one  now.  Not  one  Christian 
Scientist  looks  upon  the  author  of  our  text-book 
with  worship,  or  as  in  any  way  supernatural; 
but  they  are  all  wholesomely  grateful,  and  love 
her  and  look  upon  her  with  the  reverence  that  one 
must  feel  for  a  person  who  has  done  such  a  great 
work;  —  and  I  '11  wager  you  anything  you  like," 
she  wound  up,  "that  you  will  never,  as  long  as  you 
live,  find  a  Christian  Scientist  who  will  tell  you 
anything  different." 

"Then  why  do  people  say  such  things  .?" 

"  Because  they  don't  know  any  better  and  won't 
take  the  trouble  to  find  out,  and  would  rather 
accept  the  word  of  an  outsider,  who  says  some- 
thing unpleasant,  than  that  of  one  who  knows, 
but  says  only  something  which  has  common  sense 
to  it.  People  are  always  chasing  after  unusual 
and  surprising  stories,  and  when  they  can't  find 


328         '  *    C    H     E    T    '' 

them,  they  manufacture  them  to  order,  and  pass 
them  on." 

"That  makes  me  think,"  said  Bob,  laughing, 
"of  a  couple  of  kids  I  heard  talking  the  other 
day,  while  they  weie  looking  at  my  engine.  One 
of  them  had  got  Jove  and  Edison  mixed  up,  and 
thought  that  Edison  was  responsible  for  thunder- 
storms. I  butted  in  and  tried  to  tell  them  that 
he  was  just  a  man  like  their  dad,  only  a  lot  smarter; 
and  the  one  who  was  sure,  came  at  me  with  a 
newspaper  clipping  that  called  Edison  a  'wizard.* 
He  had  looked  the  word  up  in  the  dictionary,  so 
that  settled  the  matter.  There  was  n't  any  use 
in  trying  to  tell  them  anything,  in  the  face  of  that 
piece  of  newspaper;  and  the  last  I  heard,  they 
were  planning  to  write  to  Edison  and  ask  him  not 
to  send  any  thunder-storms  this  Summer,  because 
their  little  sister  was  afraid  of  them." 

We  all  laughed.  The  thunder-storm  had  cleared 
the  air,  and  when  Bob  left  us  at  his  corner,  Bess 
and  I  walked  on,  in  a  mighty  good  humor.  We  'd 
got  to  where  we  could  talk  over  that  other  girl 
without  a  single  ugly  thought.  I  'd  been  reading 
in  the  book  considerably  mornings  and  evenings, 
and  it  sort  of  seemed  as  if  I  'd  got  into  the  habit 


*  '   C    H     E    T   '  *         329 

of  looking  for  nice  things  in  people,  a  good  deal  as 
I  looked  for  things  I  could  understand  in  the  book. 
Anyway,  it  seemed  as  if  folks  were  nicer  to  me, 
and  Mother's  face  got  to  smoothing  out  when  I 
came  in,  instead  of  tightening  up.  I  had  n't 
realized  before  how  many  of  the  lines  in  her  face 
meant  me.  It  was  good  to  see  them  smooth  out.  I 
was  n't  altogether  an  angel,  though,  —  not  by  any 
means. 

That  day,  when  I  reached  home,  I  passed 
Mother  in  the  hall.  "Chester,"  she  said,  "I 
wish  you  'd  go  into  Gordon's  this  afternoon,  when 
you  're  down  town,  and  get  me  some  samples  of 
wall-paper.  I  thought  I  could  manage  to  go  down 
this  week  and  select  it,  but  I  have  n't  been  able 
to  find  the  time." 

"What  color.?"  I  asked. 

"Well,  I  think  blue  would  be  nice,  wouldn't 
it .?     It 's  for  the  southwest  room." 

"  Why  don't  you  get  yellow  —  plain  yellow,  with 
a  brown  frieze  ?     The  furniture  is  oak,  is  n't  it .?" 

Mother  looked  pleased.  "  I  believe  that  would 
be  better,"  she  said. 

"Not  bright  yellow,"  I  said,  "  —just  a  sort 
of  creamy  yellow,  that  will  go  well  with  the  brown." 


330  "    C     H     E     T   '  ' 

"All  right,"  said  Mother.  "Just  select  it  for 
me,  will  you,  Chet  ?  Never  mind  about  the 
samples." 

"You  going  to  put  her  in  there  }"    I  asked. 

"Yes.  I  'd  give  her  the  guest-chamber,  only 
it 's  north  exposure,  and  would  be  dismal  in  win- 
ter; and  besides,  the  furnace  is  n't  to  be  depended 
upon  for  that  room;  —  but  the  southwest  room 
is  all  right,  only  the  clothes-press  is  so  small," 
and  she  shook  her  head.  "  But  she  '11  manage  all 
right,"  she  added. 

"When  *s  she  coming.?"    I  asked. 

"The  sixth  of  April." 

I  did  n't  wait  for  any  more,  but  went  on  up- 
stairs to  have  a  look  at  the  room  and  see  where 
the  desk  would  go  best.  I  had  n't  tried  to  picture 
the  girl  at  all,  for  fear  that  she  would  be  in  some 
way  different,  and  it  might  make  it  harder, — 
and  I  'd  made  up  my  mind  to  be  just  as  decent  as 
I  could 

When  I  went  into  the  room,  it  some  way  did  n't 
look  good  to  me.  Mother  had  been  using  it  for 
a  sewing  room,  and  there  were  a  lot  of  boxes  and 
baskets  setting  round.  It  was  awfully  small,  too. 
I  went  and  put  my  head  into  the  clothes-press, 


'  *   C    H     E    T  '  '         331 

—  yes,  that  was  small,  and  the  top  of  it  sloped 
because  the  attic  stairs  went  up  over  it.  I  took 
a  look  into  the  guest-chamber;  but  that  was  dis- 
mal and  chilly,  and  I  shut  the  door  quick  and  went 
back  to  the  small  room.  There  was  a  west  win- 
dow, and  there  was  a  south  window,  and  that 
would  make  it  awfully  hot  in  summer;  but  there 
was  a  good  place  for  the  desk,  with  a  gas  jet  right 
over  it,  and  that  was  something.  Then  I  went  to 
my  room. 

When  I  got  there,  I  stood  and  stared  around. 
It  was  the  southeast  room,  and  the  biggest  room 
on  that  floor.  I  had  built  in  my  book-shelves, 
and  made  a  large  square  table  against  the  wall, 
to  draw  on,  and  I  had  everything  just  the  way  I 
wanted  it.  I  surely  had  taken  a  lot  of  comfort  in 
that  room. 

I  looked  it  over,  and  then  I  went  and  took 
another  sight  at  the  southwest  room,  and  mentally 
laid  it  out  all  over;  and  then  I  went  back  and 
tumbled  my  books  onto  the  floor  and  got  a  hammer 
and  started  to  knock  off"  the  top  shelf.  Then  I 
stopped  and  thought  for  a  while,  and  then  I  put 
the  books  back. 

I  went  into  the  southwest  room  and   gathered 


332         '  *   C    H     E    T   '  ' 

up  Mother's  truck  and  carried  it  into  the  guest- 
chamber  and  dumped  it  just  anywhere,  and  moved 
in  the  machine,  and  the  boxes  and  mending  chest, 
and  then  sized  up  the  room  again.  After  that  I 
went  and  dragged  in  my  table  and  set  it  by  the 
window,  where  I  had  intended  the  desk  to  go,  and 
then  I  hauled  in  the  rest  of  my  stuff,  and  was 
just  sawing  one  of  the  shelves  that  I  'd  taken 
from  the  guest-chamber  clothes-press,  to  start 
some  new  book-shelves,  when  Mother  came  in. 
She  only  stood  and  stared  for  a  moment,  and  then 
her  face  flushed  up  young  and  pretty.  She  did  n't 
ask  any  questions,  or  bother,  she  just  said,  — 
"Thank  you,  Chester,"  —  and  said  it  hard, — 
and  then  went  on  about  her  business.  I  tell  you. 
Mother  is  about  the  most  sensible  woman  that  I 
know ! 

After  dinner,  I  went  and  got  Bess  to  go  down 
town  with  me  to  help  pick  out  the  paper,  and  to 
order  the  desk  sent  up;  and  when  we  had  attended 
to  those  things,  we  went  over  to  our  store. 

Uncle  Rob  was  just  starting  out  to  do  some 
collecting  as  we  went  in,  and  we  found  that 
Miss  Weed  was  having  a  day  off,  so  Dad  was  all 
alone  for  a  little  while;  —  and  it  took  only  two 


"    C     H     E     T   ••  333 

seconds  to  see  that  he  had  one  of  his  re-arranging 
streaks  on.  He  was  pulling  things  down  from  the 
shelves  and  sputtering  about  the  dust,  and  as 
soon  as  I  hove  in  sight,  he  said  that  I  was  just 
in  time,  because  he  had  decided  to  take  down  the 
big  Japanese  umbrella  that  hung  from  the  ceiling, 
and  told  me  to  go  and  get  the  step-ladder. 

I  brought  it,  but  I  tell  you  it  was  something 
of  a  trick  to  carry  such  a  long  step-ladder  between 
a  hundred  and  twenty  feet  of  glass  show-cases! 
I  set  it  up  under  the  umbrella  and  Dad  went  up. 

Now  the  umbrella  was  fastened  to  a  hook  in 
the  ceiling,  and  the  ceiling  is  about  seventeen  feet 
high,  —  and  Dad  is  only  five-feet-six.  The  step- 
ladder  was  a  mighty  tall  one,  though,  and  Dad 
went  up  all  right  until  he  was  about  three  steps 
from  the  top,  and  could  get  hold  of  the  handle  of  the 
umbrella.  He  thought  that  all  he  had  to  do  was  to 
take  it  by  the  handle  and  lift  it  oft  of  the  hook, 
but  it  would  n't  lift  off. 

"Shut  it  down,*'  I  said,  "and  then  you  can  see 
what 's  the  matter." 

He  went  up  another  step,  holding  on  to  the 
umbrella  to  steady  himself,  and  managed  to  press 
the  spring,  and  then  went  down  a  step  until  he 


334  *  '   C     H     E     T   '  ' 

could  get  the  thing  closed  tight,  —  and  then  he 
tried  to  lift  it  off. 

He  tried  and  tried,  but  he  could  n't  loosen  the 
wire  in  the  top,  which  seemed  to  be  tangled  into 
the  hook.  "That  comes  of  using  picture-wire 
instead  of  a  screw-eye!"  he  sputtered,  —  and 
then  he  went  up  another  step.  That  made  him 
so  high  that  the  ladder  seemed  a  little  wabbly, 
and  he  told  us  to  steady  it.  Bess  took  the 
straight  side,  and  I  took  the  step  side,  and  we 
braced  it;  but  still  he  could  n't  get  the  thing 
undone. 

He  was  on  next  to  the  top  step,  and  holding 
onto  the  umbrella,  but  he  could  n't  reach  the 
hook  with  his  hands,  and  he  could  n't  lift  or  jerk 
the  wire  off. 

"I  '11  have  to  go  up  on  the  top,"  he  said,  "Hold 
her  firm,"  and  he  steadied  himself  with  the 
umbrella  and  stepped  one  foot  onto  the  top  step; 
and  then,  as  he  still  could  n't  reach,  he  drew  the 
other  one  up  very  carefully.  That  top  step  was 
dreadfully  narrow,  so  that  half  of  his  heels  were 
olF  on  one  side,  and  the  most  of  his  toes  on  the 
other;  but  it  put  him  high  enough  so  that  he 
could  rest  just  about  an  inch  of  his  fingers  on  the 


(  ( 


C    H     E    T   "  335 

ceiling,  and  that  held  him  all  right,  though  he 
was  awfully  high  up. 

He  took  as  firm  a  stand  as  he  could,  and  braced 
the  fingers  of  one  hand  against  the  ceiling,  and 
with  the  other  began  untwisting  the  wire.  He 
had  to  change  hands  every  minute  or  two,  to 
rest,  because  he  was  holding  his  arms  up  so 
straight.  But  at  last  he  had  it  undone,  and  com- 
menced to  lower  it  carefully  with  one  hand,  while 
he  kept  in  touch  with  the  ceiling  with  the  other. 
I  reached  for  it  when  the  wire  had  let  it  down  far 
enough,  but  Dad  shouted,  — 

"Stay  where  you  are  —  stay  where  you  are! 
Don't  wabble  this  step-ladder!" 

He  let  it  down  as  far  as  the  wire  would  take  it, 
and  then  dropped  it.  "  It 's  worn  out,  anyway," 
he  said. 

It  landed  all  right,  and  he  put  his  hand  back 
up  to  the  ceiling  while  he  rested  the  other,  before 
starting  down.  Then  he  put  the  other  back  again 
and  stood  there. 

I  thought  maybe  he  was  waiting  for  me  to 
hand  him  something  and  had  forgotten  that  he 
had  n't  told  me  to,  and  so  I  said,  — 

"What  you  doing?" 


336  '  '    C     H     E     T   '  ' 

"W-wait  a  minute,"  he  said,  and  he  took  down 
one  hand,  —  and  then  he  put  it  back  and  took 
down  the  other. 

Bess  and  I  stood  and  stared.  "What's  the 
matter  .?"  I  said.     "Why  don't  you  come  down  ?" 

Dad  did  n't  say  anything;  but  he  shifted  his 
weight  a  little,  and  then  he  drew  one  foot  off  of  the 
step  backward  and  lowered  it  about  an  inch,  — 
and  then  suddenly  sort  of  shook  it,  the  way  a  cat 
does  when  it  puts  its  foot  into  cold  water,  and  put 
it  back  quick. 

Bess  and  I  looked  at  each  other.  "Why  don't 
you  come  down.^"   I  asked,  again. 

Dad  did  n't  swear;  but  he  waited  several  words 
long,  and  then  he  said,  between  his  teeth,  — 
".  .  .  .  I  can't." 

"Well,  why  —  "I  began,  —  and  then  I  saw  the 
situation.  When  he  went  up  onto  the  top,  he 
had  steadied  himself  with  the  umbrella,  —  but 
now  it  was  gone,  and  there  was  nothing  but  the 
tips  of  his  fingers  on  the  ceiling  to  hold  him.  Of 
course,  that  was  all  right  as  long  as  he  was  on  the 
top  step;  but  just  as  soon  as  he  went  to  put  one 
foot  down,  it  drew  his  hands  away,  and  left  him 
trying  to  balance  on  one  foot  on  a  five-inches- 


"   C    H     E    T   •  •         337 

wide  step,  ten  feet  in  the  air,  —  and  Dad  never 
was  much  of  a  gymnast. 

Bess's  eyes  met  mine,  and  then  we  turned  our 
heads  away,  quick. 

"Stop  jiggling  that  ladder,  will  you.?"  sput- 
tered Dad;  and  then  he  tried  the  other  foot,  and 
got  it  down  farther  than  he  did  the  first  one,  — 
and  jerked  it  back  quicker  —  and  just  then  the 
front  door  opened  and  old  Mrs.  Davis  came  in. 

I  was  facing  the  door,  and  so  was  Dad.  Mrs. 
Davis  looked  around  cheerfully  as  she  came  in,  — 
and  then  she  caught  sight  of  Dad,  up  on  the  step- 
ladder. 

"Oh,  there  's  Mr.  Williams!"  she  said,  smiling. 
"Mr.  Williams,  I  want  you  to  show  me  some  solid 
silver  spoons.  I  want  one  for  my  little  grand- 
daughter's birthday."     And  then  she  waited. 

Dad  did  the  wet-cat  act  again,  and  changed 
hands;   but  did  n't  say  a  word. 

"You  're  not  too  busy,  are  you,  Mr.  Williams  .?" 
she  asked,  winningly,  not  seeing  him  getting  down 
very  fast. 

"H-m  — well  — "  said  Dad,  "The  — the  fact 
is,  I  can't  come  down." 

"  G)uld  n't  you  do  that  up  there  some  other 


338  *  *    C     H     E    T   " 

time?"  asked  Mrs.  Davis,  sweetly.  "Her  birth- 
day is  to-morrow,  you  know,  and  I  give  her  a 
silver  spoon  on  every  birthday."  And  then  she 
waited  again. 

Dad*s  arms  were  getting  tired,  I  noticed,  for 
he  changed  hands  oftener  than  he  did  at  first, 
and  his  knees  kept  bending;  but  he  straightened 
them  out  quick  every  time,  for  they  shortened 
his  height. 

Mrs.  Davis  said,  "H-m?" 

"  But  you  see,  I  —  I  can't  come  down,"  said  Dad. 

"  You  got  to  finish  what  you  're  doing  up  there 
now.?"    she  asked,  and  her  voice  sounded  sorry. 

"Chet,"  said  Dad,  "hold  that  ladder  still!  I 
say,  Mrs.  Davis,  that  I  cant  come  down, —  I  'm 
not  able,  —  I  —  I  have  n't  anything  to  hold  on 
to;  —  see  —  "  and  he  gave  his  foot  another  jerk, 
for  the  lady. 

Mrs.  Davis  came  closer  and  put  on  her  glasses. 
"Why  don't  you  just  put  your  foot  down  on  the 
next  step  .?"   she  asked. 

Dad  did  n't  answer,  —  he  just  stood  there  with 
his  hands  above  his  head,  looking  like  Hercules 
holding  up  the  world,  only  it  was  on  the  tips  of 
bis  fingers,  instead  pf  his  shoulders. 


(  ( 


C    H     E     T   '  '  339 

"  Well,  I  suppose  I  '11  have  to  come  in  again,  if 
you  can't  come  down  now,"  said  Mrs.  Davis, 
and  heaved  a  sigh  and  trotted  out. 

"Why  don't  you  do  something.?"  said  Dad, 
as  soon  as  the  door  was  shut.  "  I  don't  want  the 
whole  town  to  come  in  while  I  'm  up  here!" 

"I  could  come  up  behind  you  and  hold  your 
ankles,"  I  suggested. 

"Don't  you  dare  step  a  foot  on  that  ladder!" 
shouted  Dad. 

"I  could  go  in  next  door  and  borrow  another 
ladder,"  said  Bess. 

"Don't  you  let  go,  don't  you  let  go  for  an  in- 
stant!" sputtered  Dad.  "  I  don't  want  a  bunch  of 
people  in  here,  anyway." 

"  Perhaps  I  could  stand  on  a  chair  —  '*  I  began. 

"Do  it  then,"  said  Dad.  "Here,  didn't  I 
tell  you  not  to  let  go  of  that  step-ladder  .?  What  're 
you  trying  to  do,  anyway .?" 

Just  then  the  door  opened  and  in  came  Uncle 
Rob.  "Oh,  you  took  the  umbrella  down,  did  n't 
you?"  he  said,  smiling  approvingly.  "I  think 
it  looks  a  lot  better  without  it." 

No  gne  §aid  anything,  and  Dad  just  changed 
hands. 


340  *  *    C     H     E     T    '  ' 

"Huh  ?"    said  Uncle  Rob,  staring  at  us. 

Bess  and  I  did  n't  dare  speak,  —  and  Dad 
did  n't  want  to. 

"Coming  down  now?"    asked  Uncle  Rob. 

And  then  Bess  and  I  exploded  and  Dad  howled. 
I  told  you  he  had  no  sense  of  humor. 

It  took  Uncle  Rob  a  full  minute  to  grasp  the 
situation,  —  and  then  he  swallowed  something 
big. 

"I  '11  go  and  get  another  step-ladder,"  he  said, 
and  started  for  the  door. 

"Don't  you  do  it,  —  don't  you  do  it!"  called 
Dad.  "I  won't  have  them  all  in  here.  Get  up 
on  a  chair  and  hold  my  feet." 

Uncle  Rob  climbed  on  a  chair  and  reached  up. 

"Leggo     my    ankles,  —  leggo     my     ankles!" 
shouted  Dad,  shaking  the  step-ladder  and  trying 
to  kick  without  moving  his  feet. 

Uncle  Rob  dropped  his  hands,  and  Dad  groaned. 

I  began  to  get  worried  about  that  time;  for  I 
knew  his  arms  were  nearly  breaking,  so  he 
could  n*t  keep  them  up  much  longer,  —  and  his 
knees  were  wabbling  more  and  more  all  the 
time;  and  I  did  n't  know  what  the  dickens  we 
were  going  to  do  —  and  then  Bess  had  an  idea. 


*  *   C     H     E    T  '  '         341 

"Steady  this,"  she  said  to  Uncle  Rob,  and  then 
she  chased  to  the  rear  of  the  store  and  came  back 
with  a  window-brush,  that  's  on  the  end  of  a  long 
pole  so  it  will  reach  to  the  top  of  the  windows. 
Uncle  Rob  saw  the  point,  and  as  soon  as  she  had 
taken  her  place  at  the  ladder  again,  he  took  it 
and  reached  it  up  to  Dad.  Dad  took  hold  of  it 
and  Uncle  Rob  held  hard,  and  in  a  moment  Dad 
was  back  down  three  steps,  and  sitting  on  the 
top  one  rubbing  his  arms  and  legs. 

"Why  did  n't  some  of  you  do  that  a  long  time 
ago  ?"  he  said. 

I  had  n't  told  Bess  that  I  had  given  up  my  room, 
and  she  thought  that  the  paper  was  for  the  south- 
west room;  and  I  did  n't  tell  her  until  it  was  all 
papered  and  finished,  and  I  had  sand-papered  the 
book-shelves  and  done  them  over  to  match  things 
better;  and  the  desk  had  been  brought  up  and  put 
in  place,  —  and  then  I  had  her  come  over  to  see. 

She  was  as  good  as  Mother  for  she  did  n't 
palaver  a  bit,  but  just  showed  by  her  eyes  and 
face  how  she  felt  about  it.  She  had  brought  over 
the  writing  set  and  a  pottery  jug  that  she  had  made 
in  school,  and  she  said  that  she  would  have  some 


342         '  '    C    H     E    T   '  ' 

daffodils  in  her  window-box,  to  put  in  the  jug 
when  the  day  came,  —  and  it  was  less  than  a 
week  off. 

And  how  that  week  did  fly!  The  sixth  came  on 
Saturday,  and  though  we  saw  preparations,  the 
folks  kept  their  promise  about  not  talking  to  us 
about  it.  We  did  n't  know  what  time  she  was 
to  arrive,  but  Bess  came  over  early,  right  after 
breakfast,  with  the  daffodils,  and  we  put  them  in 
the  jug  on  the  desk,  and  Bess  smoothed  out  the 
embroidered  cloth  on  the  table,  and  looked  into 
the  dresser  drawers  to  see  if  there  were  fresh 
papers,  and  we  brought  in  two  or  three  of  my 
books  that  we  thought  she  might  like,  and  put 
them  on  the  book-shelves,  —  and  a  couple  of 
magazines  on  the  table,  —  and  we  patted  every- 
thing all  into  place,  and  then  went  down  and  put 
up  the  hammock  on  the  veranda  —  it  was  time 
it  was  out,  anyway. 

We  sat  there  and  talked  and  watched  the  street 
and  tried  to  be  interested  in  what  we  were  saying 
—  until  by  and  by  Bess  just  had  to  go  home, 
because  her  father  was  in  town  for  a  few  days,  and 


"   C    H     E    T  "         343 

she  wanted  to  be  with  him  all  she  could.  She  told 
me  to  whistle  when  the  girl  had  got  there,  though. 

I  thought  I  'd  go  back  up  to  the  room  and  see 
if  everything  was  all  right;  and  as  I  went  through 
the  dining-room  way,  the  first  thing  I  saw  was  the 
dinner-table  set  for  four!  My  heart  gave  a  jump. 
She  was  coming  before  dinner,  —  she  would  be 
here  in  less  than  an  hour!  I  rushed  back  to  the 
veranda;  but  Bess  was  out  of  sight,  and  so  I 
went  on  up  stairs  and  put  the  jug  of  flowers  on 
the  table,  instead  of  on  the  desk;  and  then  I  re- 
membered that  Bess  had  put  it  on  the  desk,  and 
so  I  put  it  back,  and  moved  around  the  maga- 
zines some,  and  looked  in  the  dresser  glass  to  see 
if  it  was  clear,  and  tied  my  necktie  over  again, 
because  one  end  was  skew-haw,  —  and  then  I 
went  back  to  the  veranda.  Gee,  but  the  time 
did  go  slow! 

It  was  a  warm  day,  and  it  seemed  sort  of  good 
to  be  in  the  hammock  again,  and  hearing  the 
old  hooks  and  staples  creak  the  way  they  did  last 
Summer.  I  was  just  remembering  how  they 
sounded  the  day  I  first  heard  that  that  other  girl 


344  *  *    C     H     E     T   '  ' 

was  coming,  —  and  here  I  was  sitting  and  wait- 
ing for  her,  and  my  collar  was  choking,  and  I 
was  screwing  my  neck  in  it!  —  when  suddenly 
I  heard  Bess  come  rushing  through  the  hedge 
and  across  the  lawn.  As  she  came  around  the 
house  and  onto  the  walk,  I  saw  that  her  arms 
were  flying  and  her  eyes  shining  just  as  they  al- 
ways do  when  something  big  is  in  the  air,  and 
she  was  catching  her  breath  and  chuckling  away 
down  inside,  and  calling,  —  "Chet,  Chet!"  in 
a  funny  little  excited  way,  as  if  her  voice  was  n't 
working  right,  —  and  her  mouth  and  eyes  were 
all  alive  with  smiles. 

"O  Chet,  Chet,  Chet!"  she  cried,  rushing  up 
the  steps  and  flopping  down  into  the  hammock 
beside  me  and  grabbing  my  arm. 

"Well,"  I  said,  "it  seems  to  please  you  some!" 

"Oh,  it  does,  —  it  does!  What  do  you  think 
—  and  everybody  thought  we  knew,  —  and  we 
never  even  guessed!" 

"W-e-1-1,  — goon,"  I  said. 

"Why,  don't  you  see,  Chet,  —  Father  just  told 
me,  —  he  's    going   away    on    a    long   trip,  —  to 


'  '    C     H     E     T   '  '  345 

Europe,  and  everywhere,  —  and  he  's  going  to  be 
gone  a  year  or  two,  —  and  we  're  going  to  break 
up  housekeeping,  and  —  " 

"Nice  news  for  me"  I  said. 

"Oh,  but  wait,  Chet!  You  don't  understand. 
There  was  n't  any  other  place  for  me;  —  and,  oh, 
Chet,  can't  you  see  t  —  can't  you  see  1  —  your 
mother  was  my  mother's  very  best  friend;  —  and 
/  'm  that  other  girl!" 


The  End 


mill  nKnnniiinii  nil  npiiiiiiiiiiiiiii  III!  ii_ 

A     000  129  589    8 


